


Love is Brewing at the Lazy Daisy

by tehfanglyfish



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Canon Era, Deviates From Canon, F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Getting Together, Good Morgana (Merlin), Happy Ending, M/M, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), Oral Sex, Pining Arthur, Repressed Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:27:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 51,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25991320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tehfanglyfish/pseuds/tehfanglyfish
Summary: It’s been five years since Arthur took the throne and Camelot is thriving, thanks to his hard work and willingness to listen to his best friend and closest advisor, Gwen. Dedicated to improving life for his people, Arthur gave up on romance years ago to focus on economic revitalization and building a lasting peace with the Druids.But everything changes when a new shop opens next door to the Rising Sun, selling a strange drink from a distant land. Arthur soon finds himself regularly frequenting the Lazy Daisy, drawn to the coffee and the captivating shopkeeper, a man called Merlin who seems strangely familiar. Will he be the one to convince Arthur to let down his defenses and follow his heart?
Relationships: Background Elena/Morgana, Gwen/Leon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 248
Kudos: 409
Collections: After Camlann Big Bang





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [[FANART] Love is Brewing at the Lazy Daisy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25992289) by [vickytokio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vickytokio/pseuds/vickytokio). 



> I have always wanted to write a coffee shop AU, but I love to write canon era, so for this fest I decided to do both and create a canon-era coffee shop AU that is not at all historically accurate (but then neither are dragons, so whatever). 
> 
> The gorgeous art for this fic was created by the ever-amazing [vickytokio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vickytokio) . They really brought the story to life and I am so glad they chose my prompt. THANK YOU!
> 
> This fic would be a complete and total mess without the diligent efforts of my awesome beta, [achrilock](https://achrilock-atmospheric.tumblr.com), who put up with me even though I fell behind schedule.
> 
> Thank you to the mods. I can't imagine how much work it takes to put this fest together, but it has gone a long way to making 2020 more bearable for me.
> 
> And the obligatory disclaimer - neither I nor vickytokio claim to own these characters or this franchise. I made no money from this endeavor. Written for the love of Camelot and its fandom, not for profit!

“Here. Try this.”

Arthur looked down at the mug Gwen slid in front of him. Steam rose from the dark liquid within and the aroma was unlike anything he’d encountered before.

“What is it?” He lifted the cup to get a better look.

“It’s called coffee and it’s made from a bean.”

“This doesn’t look much like any bean I’ve ever eaten. It’s more like a chamber pot that’s not been…”

“Hush,” Gwen interrupted. “The beans are roasted, then ground up. They’re tied in cheesecloth and boiled to produce the coffee. At least that’s what the man selling it told me.”

“So it’s not from the kitchens?”

“No.”

“Is it safe?”

There hadn’t been any assassination attempts against the king in over a year. Arthur was more worried about the digestibility of the foul-smelling contents of the mug.

“I’ve been drinking it for the past week with no ill effects. In fact, it even gives you energy and helps with concentration.”

“Is that right?” Arthur paused in handing the mug back to Gwen.

He’d been struggling to draft a letter to Iseldir. Though Arthur hadn’t formally changed the laws on magic after Uther’s death five years before, he had tried to improve relations with the Druids. While a dialogue had opened, Arthur found it easier to carry on a conversation in person with the de facto Druid leader, where he could gauge Iseldir’s reactions by observing his body language. Written correspondence meant that Arthur had to carefully choose his words, as it could take weeks to sort any miscommunication.

“I thought that would interest you,” Gwen said, smiling at him. “You’ve been agonizing over this letter for days. Honestly, Arthur, it’s just an invitation to attend the Midsummer festival.”

“But I need to get it right.”

“Then drink the coffee. And be careful. It’s still hot enough to scald your tongue.”

Arthur raised the mug to his lips and hesitantly took a sip.

“It tastes filthy!”

“It grows on you. Some people add milk or honey.”

“And you didn’t bring any?”

“Not your servant.”

“True. And it was wrong of me to ask such a thing of my advisor on domestic affairs.”

Arthur had named Gwen to the position not long after taking the throne. She was one of the few servants who’d dared to speak her mind to him when he was still the crown prince. What began as a polite but firm reprimand of his boorish behavior had evolved into a deep friendship.

Guinevere, or rather Gwen as she insisted he call her, had taught him to be more considerate and less-demanding. In turn, Arthur sheltered her from his father’s wrath when Morgana fled Camelot following the revelation of her magic, the pain of Morgana’s absence drawing them closer.

Arthur had briefly tried to court her, something Gwen had quickly put a stop to.

“You are a dear friend and I love you as such,” she told him when he attempted a marriage proposal, “but I’m not going to be your bride of convenience.”

“But Gwen, I’m supposed to find a queen and produce heirs and…”

“Arthur Pendragon, we both know there’s no chance of you ‘producing heirs’ with me.”

She was right. As his closest confidant, he’d once let it slip to Gwen that he often found himself more taken with the knights who accompanied visiting princesses to Camelot than with the young women they were meant to protect.

Rejecting his offer of marriage didn’t mean Gwen was forever destined for a life in the royal laundry. As the daughter of a blacksmith and a maid in the castle, she understood the people’s lived experiences in a way that Arthur, as the prince and then king, never could.

He created a new position for her on the council not long after his coronation, a decision he never once regretted. Gwen helped him understand the complexities of domestic policy and Camelot was a better place because of her.

Arthur thought about this as he blew across the top of the mug to cool the liquid. There was no way he could have navigated kingship as successfully without Gwen.

He took a sip, then another. Coffee was definitely an acquired taste, but not that bad. With a little milk to cut through the acid, it might even border on good. Or at least tolerable.

Gwen scanned the draft of his letter as he continued drinking.

“What do you think?” he asked between sips.

“It’s a little stilted, though that’s to be expected from you.”

Arthur tried to make a face at her, choking in the process. She walked over and slapped him on the back, reminding him that the daughter of a blacksmith had rather strong arms.

“But it gets the job done and won’t cause any diplomatic blunders. Do you want me to take it to a courier? I need to send out some of my own correspondence.”

“Let me look it over one more time.”

༻✧༺ ༻✧༺ ༻✧༺

Two hours later, Arthur found himself knocking on the door to Gwen’s chambers.

“Where did you say you got the coffee?” he asked, drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair she’d offered him.

“The Lazy Daisy. It’s a new place in the market, beside the Rising Sun. It’s only been open about a month. Why?”

“I need to know where to send George to get more. Since you left, I revised my letter to Iseldir to improve the flow. Then I got started on my speech for Midsummer and have almost finished ironing out a first draft. I also might have packed away my winter clothes, polished my boots, and sharpened my sword.”

“George won’t know what to do with himself.”

“Yes he will because he’s going to fetch more coffee so I can get to work auditing the tax rosters.”

Gwen laughed.

“You’ll have to wait until tomorrow because the Lazy Daisy closes at midafternoon. And you should be careful, because the more coffee you drink, the more you need to stay energized. A week ago, one cup was all I needed but now it takes at least two for the effects to kick in.”

“Alright then. I’ll tell George to go by first thing in the morning.”

“You know, you could go yourself. It would help build character. And besides, if you go, you can meet the owner.”

“How is that an advantage?”

“Well, it will keep you in touch with Camelot’s merchant community, it would be good for public relations, and…”

“Yes?”

“I think you’ll like him.”

“And why is that?”

“He’s kind, he’s funny, and he’s cute.”

“Gwen.”

“He’s also single.”

“We’ve talked about this. I don’t need you to play matchmaker. And how do you know he’s single?”

“He told me when I asked.”

“And why were you asking?”

“I was making conversation.”

“I’m sure Leon will be glad to know that you’re out propositioning random shopkeepers.”

“Leon fully supports my efforts in helping a dear friend who, though a skilled and capable knight and king, is completely inept when it comes to matters of love. You haven’t said one word about romance since I turned you down.”

“You broke my heart, Guinevere. I still haven’t recovered.”

“Right,” she teased, “because I’m the man of your dreams.”

“Shut up.”

“I will, but only if you go talk to the shop owner.”

“Gwen, you know I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m the king. Tradition says I have to marry a woman and make babies and…”

“I’ve heard all this before. We both know none of that will ever happen.”

“Hey now!”

“Why don’t you give yourself a chance at being happy?”

“The people will talk.”

“Yes, about how their king finding true love led to Camelot’s golden age.”

“He probably doesn’t even like men.”

“I have it on good authority that he does.”

“You’re making that up.”

“No. He told me when he thought I was coming on to him. So you really should go to the Lazy Daisy tomorrow. He’s cute, he’s sweet, he’s single.”

Years of experience had taught Arthur not to argue with Gwen when she got on the subject of his love life, or rather, lack thereof. Yes, he would like to find someone, but Camelot had to come first.

“Thank you. Perhaps I will. But tomorrow George can go.”

Gwen rolled her eyes.

“You are impossible. Be sure to send him with a palace mug. The proprietor’s aren’t for sale and he won’t lend them out.”

“Not even to the king?”

“Well, I didn’t ask because I didn’t want to be the kind of ass who uses a title to get my way.”

Arthur huffed. As usual, Gwen was making an excellent point.

“I’ll tell George to take a serving pitcher. The tax rosters are a nightmare.”

“Send George tomorrow if you must, but Arthur, you really should go meet him. You’ll like him. I promise.”

༻✧༺ ༻✧༺ ༻✧༺

The next week and a half might have been the most productive since Arthur became king. Tax rosters were sorted in an afternoon. The Midsummer speech was in the final stages of revision. Arthur had even started developing a new plan for winter grain distribution to those in need.

And he’d caught up on the letters he regularly wrote to Morgana, his half-sister, chased away at sword point by their father, for the crime of having been born with magic.

Ever since her departure, he made it a point to write to her, laying out the details of his days, the good and the bad, as well as his hope that she might be persuaded to eventually return.

Where the letters should be sent, Arthur didn’t know. He had boxes of them, carefully packed away over the years. If he discovered her whereabouts, would he send them? Maybe. He had his doubts that she’d ever read them. She hadn’t said goodbye to him before she fled in the middle of the night and it had been more than eight years with no word from her.

Rumors made their way to Camelot. Arthur refused to listen to the various reports of her death, but heeded others, hoping for a grain of truth. There were whispers that she’d joined up with the Druids. A group of young men swore they’d seen her riding a dragon. An itinerant merchant said she’d been spotted wandering the streets of Rome. Though it was highly unlikely, Arthur hoped that the last rumor was true. She’d always been taken with the city when they’d studied it in their lessons.

Arthur didn’t care that his letters would likely remain unread. Writing to Morgana made her absence seem less permanent, which helped him cope with the pain of losing her. Drinking coffee while composing the letters made the words flow easier and kept his spirits up.

Experimenting with coffee revealed that its benefits extended beyond sorting one’s thoughts. A cup consumed before training improved Arthur’s physical performance, much to the dismay of the knights pitted against him during sparring practice.

“I see someone had their coffee,” Leon said one afternoon as Arthur offered him a hand to help him up from the mud of the pitch.

“From what I’ve been told, the Lazy Daisy serves everyone in Camelot.”

“Eh, I tried it but it makes my heart race.”

“Are you sure that’s not Gwen?”

“Have you been to meet the owner?” Leon asked, ignoring Arthur’s teasing. “I think you’d like him.”

They got into position to resume their sparring, swords raised.

“Not you, too. I appreciate Gwen’s concern but now she’s enlisting my lead knight to…”

Leon took a swing and Arthur dodged.

“She isn’t. I mean, Gwen does want you to meet him, but she didn’t put me up to talking to you. I happen to agree with her.”

Their swords clanged as Arthur advanced and Leon parried his blows.

“It won’t work out.”

“You won’t know unless you try. I’d wager my knighthood that you two will get on. He’s easy to talk to – after a week you feel like you’ve known him forever.”

Arthur ignored Leon and focused on his footwork.

“And he has everything you like. Physically, I mean. Dark hair, blue eyes, lovely smile. A nice bum, too.”

A cheer erupted from the assembled spectators as Arthur toppled to the ground.

“At least that’s what Gwen tells me,” Leon continued when the applause subsided. “I’m not all that knowledgeable about men’s bums. Here. Let me help you up. I thought for sure you’d dodge that last blow.”

“I was distracted - thinking about plans for Midsummer.” It was a half-lie but Arthur didn’t care.

“Right,” Leon said, handing him the sword he’d dropped. “See for yourself. He’s standing over by the fence.”

“Where?” Arthur’s eyes darted to where Leon indicated but multiple people had gathered to watch.

“Right there. The one with the purple neckerchief,” Leon said, now pointing. Arthur caught a flash of dark hair before the tall, slim figure slipped away.

“Don’t think he likes the attention. Not that I blame him. There are days when even I get tired of having all eyes on me. Now grab your sword. I intend to pay you back for that last blow.”


	2. Chapter 2

Just as Gwen predicted, the amount of coffee Arthur needed to sustain his high energy levels increased the longer he drank it. Where one mug had initially kept him focused through an entire day, he now needed two or three, spaced out into the afternoon. And when George took several days off from work, Arthur quickly learned that skipping coffee could lead not only to sluggishness, but also a nasty headache.

Which was unfortunate, as George’s leave of absence coincided with an extended petitioners’ session. Spring rains caused flooding that left roads impassable long after the water receded, the thick mud remaining for weeks. As a result, those in outlying villages couldn’t make their way to the city for Arthur to hear their cases.

To clear the backlog, Leon had drawn up a tight schedule lasting from sunrise to dusk. Arthur understood that the work needed to be done, but he wished that the date of the marathon session hadn’t fallen while George was taking personal time to visit his mother. Still, he couldn’t blame George, whose mother also lived in a remote village. George hadn’t seen her in months.

Arthur supposed he could have sent someone else to the Lazy Daisy to fetch his morning coffee, but everyone was busy accommodating the influx of visitors. He considered himself lucky to have a breakfast tray dropped off at his chambers that morning.

And so, no coffee forthcoming, he sat down to hear petitions. The only thing that helped ward off the drowsiness was his splitting headache. Arthur tried his best to focus on the details surrounding wayward cows ransacking gardens, noisy late-night horseshoe matches, and a shed that collapsed less than a day after the carpenter was paid for his services.

He hoped he didn’t sound as irritable as he felt. As the morning wore on, Gwen’s pointed stares confirmed his suspicion that his forced efforts at politeness were slipping.

“We shall adjourn for the midday meal,” Arthur announced after a particularly tedious case involving a farmer with an ill-placed dung heap and the neighbor who lived downwind from it.

Stepping into an antechamber, Arthur let out a sigh. It was nice to have a moment’s silence after hours of listening to complaints. Royal justice was an important service to the people, but some of the disputes felt like a waste of his time. For every legitimate grievance, there seemed to be ten petty squabbles.

The shifty carpenter deserved a night in the dungeons for endangering people by scrimping on his building supplies. But the man who complained about his neighbor’s blue door not matching the rest of the brown ones in the village really needed to piss off. Or maybe spend a week in a cell for a lesson in perspective.

Arthur tried to shut down that line of thought. A fair and just king couldn’t go imprisoning people for the crime of being petty and annoying. The dungeons weren’t big enough.

“I’d give half of Camelot for a cup of coffee,” Arthur told the empty room.

He debated calling for a servant or a guard to fetch him some. As he reached for the door latch, he heard the chatter of petitioners who, not wanting to miss the chance for the king to hear their cases, had chosen not to disperse. If they caught sight of him, Arthur knew his recess would come to an abrupt end.

Besides, the sun was high in the sky and there wasn’t really enough time for a guard to retrieve a mug and make it to the Lazy Daisy before it shut down for the day. Arthur wondered if he sent his crown as a deposit if the proprietor would reverse his policy on not lending out his own drinkware. There was no guarantee, and anyway, that would put him back in the position of having to engage with the crowd in the throne room.

Arthur contemplated his options. He could spend the remainder of the day irritable and with his head splitting as he meted out justice. Or…

༻✧༺ ༻✧༺ ༻✧༺

It had been years since he’d snuck out of the castle and though Arthur was far from old, he was quickly realizing he wasn’t as spry as he used to be. Scaling the wall proved more challenging than he’d anticipated, but he only had to climb down one floor to reach the ground.

A few onlookers stared at the king escaping from his own castle, but Arthur didn’t have time to care. The sun was far too high in the sky to worry with what the gawkers thought.

The crowd of people going about their business made it difficult to hurry down the street. There were the added obstacles of parked carts, market stalls, and piles of horse droppings to avoid, but eventually Arthur reached his destination.

He stood outside of the Lazy Daisy, preparing himself to enter by smoothing his hair and adjusting his clothes. Arthur couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone to the marketplace alone.

There were occasional tavern visits, but always with Leon, Gwen, and Elyan, who ganged up on him to force him to rest and relax. Arthur rarely frequented the other businesses because of the disruption his presence caused. Customers bowed and owners tried to send him home with gifts he knew they couldn’t afford to give away. Hopefully that wouldn’t be the case today. He’d had enough exaggerated deference from the petitioners.

A bell jingled as Arthur pushed opened the door, nearly hitting someone on the other side.

“Watch it!” the man barked, then he froze as did Arthur.

They stared at one another, neither making a move.

He was tall, about Arthur’s height, with dark black hair and piercing blue eyes. Even through the headache and mental fog that had plagued him all day, Arthur couldn’t help but take note of his cheekbones, which were, by all measures, kicking right off. And his lips…

“Are you alright?” the man finally asked, breaking the silence. “You look confused.”

“Sorry,” Arthur mumbled. “I, um, came for coffee.”

“Well come back tomorrow. I’m closed.”

That jerked Arthur from his stupor.

“But I was told you were open until midafternoon.”

“Right. And since it _is_ midafternoon, I’m closed. I was about to lock the door when you barged in.”

“I didn’t barge in. I…”

“If I hadn’t been paying attention, you would have taken my head off with the door the way you flung it open.”

“Anyone with an ounce of sense would know better than to stand directly behind a door and anyway, I didn’t fling it. I opened it assertively. And since you haven’t yet locked the door, that means that you’re still open, so serve me some coffee!”

Arthur was immediately glad that Gwen wasn’t with him as he’d likely be receiving a well-deserved slap right about now.

“Look, I told you I was closed and even if I wasn’t, there’s no way I’d serve coffee to someone who is such an ass. Now get out.”

“You can’t talk to me that way.”

“I think I just did.”

There was a mischievous spark in the man’s eyes that left Arthur unsure of whether he wanted to hit him or kiss him.

“Do you even know who I am?”

“The world’s biggest prat?”

“I’m Arthur Pendragon. You know? The king?” he added when the man failed to react.

“Ah, so a royal prat.”

“I could have you in the stocks for speaking to me that way. Or a cell. I could seize your property and shut down your whole operation.” Inside, Arthur winced. The coffee depravation was bringing out a side of him that hadn’t surfaced in many years.

“True. You could grossly abuse your power. It’s what kings do. But that still won’t get you any of my coffee.”

Damn it! The man had a point. Arthur took a deep breath and tried to summon his diplomatic skills and Gwen’s lessons in common courtesy.

“I think we’ve gotten off to a bad start. Perhaps we could try again, Mister…”

“Merlin.”

For a split second the glare on his face disappeared, replaced with something unreadable.

“Merlin, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I am Arthur Pendragon, King of…”

“The prats,” Merlin supplied. He looked almost disappointed before he scowled at Arthur’s outstretched hand. Begrudgingly, he shook it.

“And I’m in a bit of a bind,” Arthur continued, willing himself to ignore the insult as well as the rush he felt when Merlin’s skin met his own. “You see, my servant has the day off so there was no one to bring me my morning coffee.”

“The hardships of the better classes are truly moving.”

Murdering Merlin, Arthur reminded himself, would mean no more coffee and complicated paperwork.

“On any other day, a battle-hardened warrior such as myself could easily forgo my daily indulgence.”

“I’m sure.”

“But today is not a regular day. I have been listening to petitioners since dawn. The people depend on me to make wise and just decisions on matters of grave importance.”

“Like dung heaps?”

“Among other things. Anyway, I find that I am not at my sharpest without your most enriching of elixirs.” Was that laying it on too thick? Arthur hoped not. “If you won’t do it for me, do it for the people of Camelot.”

Merlin didn’t immediately reply, but instead looked him over. It was strange. Arthur was used to being the center of attention, yet there was something in the way Merlin was staring at him that left him feeling exposed.

“The fate of the people really shouldn’t be left in the hands of an irritable prat,” Merlin said after what felt like an eternity, “and I’m pretty sure you need all the help you can get in the sharpness department. Let me lock the door and I’ll get you a cup. But I’m out of milk so don’t ask.”

Unsure of what to do with himself, Arthur made his way between the small tables and chairs haphazardly set out in the room to reach the counter. In many ways the place was like the Rising Sun, though the counter was far cleaner than the bar in the tavern and the room didn’t reek of spilled ale. There was also a noticeable lack of moldering grime coating the floor.

Behind the counter was a hearth, with a tripod holding a cauldron where Arthur assumed the coffee was brewed. One row of shelves on the wall held a collection of mismatched mugs, while another displayed an assortment of baked goods.

Merlin made his way behind the counter to grab a mug. He bent to retrieve a ceramic pitcher left by the hearth, giving Arthur a good view of his bum. Gwen hadn’t been wrong in her assessment of it.

Aware that he was staring, Arthur jerked his eyes away, focusing again on the shelf of pastries. His stomach growled, reminding him that he’d initially adjourned petitions under the premise of lunch.

“Could I also get a scone?” he asked when Merlin placed the filled mug in front of him.

Merlin glared, but surrendered the pastry.

“Anything else, my lord?”

How Merlin made the title sound like an insult, Arthur wasn’t sure. Should he be concerned about the safety of the food? His headache told him that poisons would be the least of his worries if he didn’t drink the coffee soon.

“No. That will be all.”

“Fine. Four coppers.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You are familiar with coppers – they’re the small coins made of...”

“Copper, yes. My government mints them.”

“Well you owe me four. To pay for your food.”

“Oh.”

There were times when Arthur meant to be an ass and other times when it happened by accident. As king, he rarely needed currency to conduct his daily affairs. The kitchens supplied him with his meals and the castle had a tailor on staff to make his clothes. True, supplies were needed, but those bills were paid monthly out of the royal accounts.

Arthur might administer funds for the army, road maintenance, and poor relief, but he never carried cash on hand.

“Let me guess. You didn’t bring any money with you.”

“I might have forgotten.”

‘If looks could kill’ was a phrase Arthur had heard periodically throughout his life. He’d never fully understood what it meant until this moment.

“I can send someone with payment as soon as I’m back to the castle or a servant can bring it tomorrow or…”

“Sure. You’ve already barged in after closing and demanded service with no intention of paying me. Why should I believe you?”

Arthur bit back the retort that almost slipped out. For a reason he couldn’t entirely explain, he didn’t want Merlin to think that he was an entitled prat. Maybe it was to avoid being like Uther, or maybe because he remembered many a late night conversation with Gwen about the injustice of noble privilege, or maybe it was because Merlin was, despite his insolence, the most beautiful man Arthur had ever laid eyes on. Regardless, he wanted to make this right.

Arthur searched his pockets for anything he might be carrying of value.

“All I have on me is this,” he said, holding out his most prized possession. “It was my mother’s sigil. You can hold it as collateral until you receive payment.”

Apart from Gwen or maybe Leon, Arthur couldn’t think of anyone else he would trust to keep this relic from his mother safe. And here he was, offering it to a complete stranger. A beautiful stranger, yes, but still someone Arthur knew next to nothing about. Clearly the lack of coffee was affecting Arthur’s judgment. Or maybe it was something in Merlin’s eyes.

Merlin shook his head in frustration, but his face softened.

“You are by far the most maddening person I’ve ever met. And that’s saying something considering that I used to live on a ship of fools. Keep your mother’s sigil. You can leave the money with Gaius. I’m stopping by to see him tonight anyway. Now drink your coffee before it gets cold.”

༻✧༺ ༻✧༺ ༻✧༺

The second round of petitions lasted well after sunset and though he’d spent the afternoon and evening sitting on the throne, Arthur felt more exhausted than if he’d been battling it out on the training pitch all day. The coffee had improved his mood, but now all he wanted was to collapse in his bed.

Walking through the castle corridors, his thoughts kept drifting back to Merlin, who had been the most interesting part of his day.

He was new to Camelot, but clearly from somewhere in the five kingdoms, maybe Essetir judging by his accent. He couldn’t be a noble, not with his abrupt manners and disregard for Arthur’s title. His clothes said villager in the city. Well, apart from the purple neckerchief – few could afford the dye. Maybe it had been a gift.

Of course that wouldn’t answer the questions of where he’d found the money to open a shop or how he discovered coffee in the first place. Before the duties of the throne kept him largely confined to Camelot, Arthur had traveled through the neighboring realms and not once had he encountered coffee. So where had Merlin been? And how did he know Gaius well enough to visit him at night?

Merlin claimed to have spent time on a ship. That might explain the coffee but presented another mystery. Why Camelot? Not many sailors made the landlocked city their home. Of course, people came to Camelot all the time for assorted reasons. The kingdom was prospering under Arthur’s leadership and the city was large enough for someone from outside to have a go at a fresh start in life. Plenty of new shops had been opening over the past few years. Merlin should be another face in the sea of Camelot commerce.

Except there was something about him that Arthur couldn’t quite pin down.

Maybe it was the lack of deference. Arthur was not unaccustomed to the occasional critical remark regarding royalty and its place in society, many of them well-deserved after Uther’s brutal reign. Yet there was something in how Merlin challenged him that stood out. Merlin wasn’t simply critiquing a system – he was calling out Arthur personally and with no fear of repercussion. Where had he learned such confident insolence?

And why did his face have to be so perfect? Gwen had called him cute, but that was a gross understatement. Merlin was positively stunning.

Arthur stopped walking, realizing that he’d wandered far from his destination. When he left the throne room, he’d had every intention of heading straight to his chambers. Instead, he now stood in front of Gaius’s door.

He waited for a moment, listening for voices on the other side. He could hear dishes being stacked and Gaius shuffling about, but no sound of Merlin. Deciding it was likely safe, he rapped his knuckles against the wood.

“Are you unwell, sire?” Gaius asked as he let the king inside.

Arthur could feel the physician’s eyes on him, scanning him for signs of illness or injury just as he always did whenever Arthur stopped by his infirmary.

“No, everything’s fine.”

“In that case, have a seat. I doubt you’ve eaten and I still have soup leftover from tonight’s supper.”

Sitting at Gaius’s table brought back some of Arthur’s best memories from his childhood. When he was growing up in the castle, Gaius offered temporary sanctuary from Uther’s scrutiny and scorn. Under the guise of extended tutoring lessons, Arthur had been allowed to stay late in the infirmary, sharing meals with the physician.

“Thanks, Gaius.” Arthur tucked in to the food placed in front of him. It had been ages since he’d eaten Merlin’s scone and he was hungrier than he’d realized.

Soup might not be the meal of choice for many kings, but that was only because they hadn’t tried Gaius’s recipes. Decades of preparing medicinal remedies had left the old man with an impressive knowledge of herbs that also benefitted his cooking.

“What brings you by at such a late hour? I can’t imagine that you crossed the castle simply to eat my soup.”

“The food is amazing, but you’re right. I came to talk to you about Merlin.”

“Oh yes, Merlin. I passed along the coins you sent with Leon and your bill is settled. I apologize if Merlin was abrupt with you. He has a habit of speaking his mind.”

“I might have noticed.”

Gaius laughed. “He’s been that way since he was young and his time at sea only made things worse.”

“You’ve known him for a long time?”

“Since his birth. Merlin is my nephew, the son of my sister Hunith.”

“I didn’t know you had a sister.”

Arthur was well aware that Gaius cared for him, but it stung a little to learn that in all the years he’d looked after Arthur, never once had he mentioned his family.

“She’s younger than me by more than a decade. She lives in Essetir, in a small village called Ealdor. It’s tiny by Camelot’s standards, and close enough to the border that Lot leaves them alone. There’s not much to see, but it’s safe enough and people can get by. Merlin grew up on Hunith’s farm. He lived there until he came of age.”

“The village doesn’t sound awful and his mother is there. Why did he leave?”

“Hunith wanted him to have the opportunity to develop talents besides farming. He tried to establish himself within Camelot’s borders – he even had a job for a little while as a servant if you can believe that – but things didn’t work out. That’s when he took up sailing. It’s not the easiest life, but it affords freedom to headstrong young men who have trouble holding their tongues.”

“Sounds like he’d be the perfect candidate for sailing, then. But why not return to Ealdor? I imagine his mother would want help on the farm.”

Arthur had a solid enough understanding of the workload associated with farming thanks to the mock apprenticeship Gwen set up for him in the summer of his first year as king. After one offhand remark about renouncing the throne to live on a farm, she’d sent him off in disguise to a small village. King Arthur would never have been handed a pitchfork and sent to muck out the village stables, but no one thought twice about putting William of Deira on manure duty. It had been an educational week to say the least.

“You’ve lived in the castle your entire life, sire, so I am assuming you are familiar with how rapidly rumors and gossip can spread, even if untrue.”

“Painfully.”

Though he’d kept it a secret from his father, pretty much everyone else within the city walls had picked up on Arthur’s failed attempt at courting Gwen. Now, years after the fact, the episode still sometimes sparked heated discourse among castle staff and courtiers alike. There were countless theories as to what had gone wrong. Some were mundane drivel, such as the speculation about Gwen’s supposed infidelity with a knight. Others were more outlandish, like the rumor that an angry sorcerer had cursed certain parts of Arthur’s anatomy to resemble that of a donkey rather than a man.

“No matter how bad gossip might be in Camelot, it’s far worse in a small village. Hunith believed that Merlin’s life would be safer and easier somewhere else.”

Arthur took a bite of the bread that Gaius had cut for him and considered this.

“What could they possibly have said that would cause a mother to send her son to sea?” he asked after having swallowed.

“Oh, this and that. Nothing based in truth. You know how villagers can get. Merlin might have gotten into a tiny bit of mischief as a boy and then a neighbor held a grudge.”

Though Arthur might have lacked firsthand experience with village life, the day spent listening to petitions made it painfully clear how petty some people could be.

“I’m assuming his stint as a servant ended due to insubordination?”

“Something along those lines, yes. After that position fell through, I suggested he go to sea. I had sent him books on medicine when he was young, and his training was far enough along to where he could serve as a ship’s healer. He spent five years on a trading vessel called the _Excalibur_. That was how he discovered coffee.”

“What brought him to Camelot?”

“Concern for those he cares about. Here he can earn enough to support Hunith as she ages while staying close enough to visit her. I admit that I was pleased when he chose to open his shop in Camelot instead of Essetir. He stayed in touch through letters, but it’s wonderful to have him around.”

“Well,” Arthur said as Gaius cleared his plate, “I also approve of his decision to set up shop in Camelot. Petitions are much easier to endure with coffee.”


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning Arthur awoke to the unpleasant realization that George was still off duty and that he’d again forgotten to leave instructions for another servant to go to the Lazy Daisy with a pitcher.

Though Arthur’s schedule was free for the morning, it still wouldn’t do to risk another headache. What if there was an emergency and he had to make a quick decision? What if Saxons suddenly attacked and he needed to spring into combat? What if he wanted to get another look at Merlin’s cheekbones?

There was only one appropriate course of action.

“Tell the kitchens I won’t be needing their services this morning,” Arthur informed the guard standing outside of his chambers.

He quickly dressed and made a rushed attempt at combing his hair. Almost out the door, he remembered something. Retrieving the strongbox from underneath his bed, Arthur counted out several coins and tucked them safely in his pocket, then made his way down the stairs and out into the Camelot morning.

Just as they had been the previous day, the streets were busy, but Arthur didn’t mind. It was still morning and midafternoon was hours away. If he had to wait for children chasing a ball or porters carrying crates, he would still be able to make it to the Lazy Daisy before it closed.

What Arthur hadn’t anticipated was the long queue extending outside the door of the coffee shop. People from all walks of life had gathered to wait their turn. Nobles stood behind servants. Some carried their own mugs and tankards with lids. A couple of especially bleary-eyed people were still wearing their nightclothes. A few looked at him, but no one made way for the king.

Taking the hint, Arthur found his place at the very back of the queue and settled in to wait.

There was, Arthur decided, one advantage to the delay. It gave him time to observe Merlin. So many people were waiting that the door to the shop had to be propped open to accommodate them. As they slowly inched forward, Arthur was able to get a clear view of the man standing behind the counter.

Merlin’s cheeks were a little flushed, probably from the heat of the fire and the exertion of filling orders, the color accentuating his cheekbones. His hair was slightly disheveled, and Arthur wondered if it was as soft as it looked. Long, slender fingers quickly filled mugs, distributed pastries, and counted coins, while Merlin’s full lips left Arthur’s mind wandering dangerous places as he waited for the people in front of him to be served.

Arthur had, by his own estimate, kept his cool until it was finally his turn to order.

“What can I get for you?” Merlin asked as the woman in front of Arthur moved on.

He was looking down, eyes focused on the coins she’d tossed on the counter. As Merlin lifted his head to greet Arthur, he smiled.

Gods above. If pitted against one another in a fight, Arthur could likely have taken Merlin apart with a single blow. But if Merlin smiled at him like that, the battle would be over before it began. Arthur lost his footing and staggered forward, catching himself on the counter.

“Oh. It’s you.”

The light faded from Merlin’s face. Cold blue eyes gave every indication that Arthur should hurry up and place his order.

“Have we met?” he instead asked.

“Um, yesterday. I know you’re a complete prat, but to also be…”

“No, before then. Your eyes. I swear I recognize them. We've met somewhere before.”

“And where would that have been?” His tone was guarded but it lost some of the iciness.

“In…” Arthur faltered, unsure of the answer.

Only a second before he’d been certain, but now he wondered if perhaps it was a memory leftover from the previous night’s dreams.

“My travels,” he finally answered. “When I was a prince, my father sent me as his envoy. Perhaps I stopped in your village or…”

“I don’t have time for this. Please just order.”

Merlin sounded almost sad and Arthur had no idea why. He decided to press forward with his original plan.

“I came for more coffee. I brought money this time.”

“Very good. You’ve mastered basic commerce. Perhaps one day you’ll even learn etiquette and respect.”

Snark was better than rejection, Arthur decided.

“I didn’t jump in front of the others.”

“You say that like it’s an accomplishment.”

“Well, if you’d met my father…”

“Fair point.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Let’s just say I’ve heard stories. Now you really do need to order. You’re keeping everyone else waiting.”

“Coffee with milk and a scone? Actually, make it two of each.”

Arthur counted out his coins while Merlin assembled his order.

“What’s this?”

“Coppers.”

“Yes, and you’ve left me twenty when this only cost eight.”

“To make up for the trouble I caused yesterday.”

Apparently irreverent and attractive men who ran coffee shops were also quite prideful. Merlin shoved the extra coins back at him.

“You can’t go around bribing people to make up for your rudeness. Now take your food and sit down.”

“Maybe it’s better if I just leave.”

“Fine by me. But not with my plates and mugs.”

“Not even for a silver?”

“Not even for a gold.”

The glint in Merlin’s eye made it clear that further negotiations would be pointless.

“I’ll find a table.”

Though crime had dropped considerably after Arthur took the throne, he still chose a corner seat with his back to the wall. After all, a king couldn’t be too careful. There were still those who believed that Arthur had inherited the blame for wrongs committed by Uther.

Yes, personal safety was the only factor Arthur considered when he picked his table. The angle gave him a good view of the entire shop. The fact that it also made for easy viewing of Merlin was nothing more than a happy coincidence.

As he watched the room, Arthur realized why people were willing to wait so long to get inside. Obviously there was the allure of coffee. Who wouldn’t want more energy or to avoid punishing headaches? Arthur had no complaints about the food; the scones were on par with the ones prepared in the royal kitchens. But there was more to it.

The atmosphere of the place was unlike any establishment Arthur had frequented before. The tavern brought people together across class divisions, yes, but in a louder and more raucous manner. The Lazy Daisy was by no means silent, but the patrons also weren’t yelling at one another or spilling drinks down each other’s tunics.

A group of people sat around one table, caught up in friendly conversation. At another, the woman who ran the vegetable stall sipped her drink while pouring over her account book. Across the room, a father tried to convince a reluctant toddler to try a bite of a muffin.

People were simply going about their business, divisions of wealth and status largely irrelevant. In many ways the dynamic of the room epitomized the Camelot that Arthur had been trying to build.

And then there was Merlin.

It took all of Arthur’s patience to make it through a single day of petitioners’ hearings without shouting. While yesterday’s session had been larger than most, there had still been fewer people in the throne room waiting for Arthur’s rulings than were presently crowding the Lazy Daisy. Most were pleasant, though a few clearly needed a coffee infusion to improve their mood. Yet any grouchiness seemed to melt when they interacted with Merlin. He smiled, made friendly small talk, and soon had them on their way.

Arthur couldn’t be faulted for falling for the man, as everyone seemed to love Merlin.

Too bad Arthur didn’t possess Merlin’s natural charm. Of all the interactions Arthur witnessed, none were strained in the ways his encounters with Merlin had been.

Even when others arrived without money to pay, Merlin didn’t respond with the same hostility he’d reserved for Arthur. Though most of those waiting had coins in hand when it was their turn to receive their food, there was a woman with a small child who had none to offer. The woman’s face turned bright red as she opened her coin purse only to find nothing inside.

She made to leave, one shaking hand shoving the purse back in her bag while the other gripped her daughter’s shoulder tightly. Arthur was sitting too far away to hear what Merlin said over the din of the dining room, but the woman turned back in response, the worry fading from her face as Merlin flashed her a giant smile.

When she finally left, she not only had the food she’d initially ordered but a sack stuffed full of scones, muffins, and rolls.

Arthur didn’t know the woman, but from the ragged clothing she and her daughter wore, he was almost certain that they were new arrivals from a remote village. Since taking the throne, Camelot had prospered financially, thanks in part to a focus on spreading out financial resources rather than concentrating them in the hands of the elite. There were regions that lagged behind, as revitalization projects took longer to complete in communities farthest from the city center. Some people chose not to wait, spending what little money they had to move, arriving in Camelot with hopes for a better life but little else.

Arthur made a mental note to talk to Leon about efforts to speed up plans for economic development. Sometimes the work felt overwhelming, his father having left behind a legacy of suffering and privation.

Scones eaten and coffee consumed, Arthur followed the lead of other patrons, placing his dishes in a bin set up by the door, then made his way back to the castle. There were other things that required his attention besides Merlin.

༻✧༺ ༻✧༺ ༻✧༺

“And since we diverted funding from minor feast days to provide every village with at least one midwife, babies are healthier and overall village mortality rates have dropped since the midwives can treat the sick when they’re not attending births. I know it’s only been a year and we’ll need to keep monitoring the progress, but the policy is immensely popular throughout the kingdom.”

Gwen’s report to the council left Arthur wondering how much damage previous kings and queens had done to Camelot by excluding non-nobles from advisory positions. She possessed wisdom that exceeded most in the room, Arthur included, and people’s lives had improved considerably because of her proposals.

She might not be the queen, but Gwen still held immense power. Her promotion had raised Arthur’s own popularity. Word quickly spread throughout the realm that a former maid would sit at one of the highest levels of government, giving voice to the concerns and needs of the people ignored by previous rulers. A large degree of Arthur’s own success came from listening to Gwen, something he regularly told anyone who would listen.

As the meeting adjourned and the councilors left, Gwen stayed behind.

“So not only did you break out of your own castle yesterday to run off to the Lazy Daisy, but you went back this morning.”

“I wanted coffee.”

“You could have sent someone.”

“If I’d poked my head out the door, the petitioners…”

“Might have caught you yesterday but were long gone this morning.”

“I’m the king, Gwen. I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

“You went back to see Merlin, didn’t you? I told you he was cute.”

“First, I went back for coffee because I’m completely useless without it. Thanks for that, by the way. Second, Merlin is not cute.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not. He’s gorgeous.”

“Ha! I knew you’d be smitten with him.”

“Well stop planning our wedding because it doesn’t matter what I think. He hates me.”

“That can’t be true. Merlin is kind to everyone. What did you do?”

When Gwen looked at him like that, Arthur knew there was no point in trying to lie.

“I might have been rude.”

“You? Rude? I don’t believe it.”

“Hush. I didn’t mean to be. I had a headache and the petitioners were annoying and I was in a bad mood.”

“So you were a jerk to him?”

“A prat, actually. I might even have threatened to throw him in a cell and shut down his business.”

“Channeling Uther, were we?”

“I caught myself and apologized. Today I tried to make it up to him, but he wasn’t having it. Apparently paying double for one’s order is highly offensive.”

“Because it looks like you’re trying to buy him off.”

“That’s what Merlin said.”

“And he’s right. So what are you going to do to fix it?”

“Have someone else retrieve my coffee each morning. At this point, I’m lucky he’s still willing to sell to me.”

Gwen huffed in frustration. “Or you could talk to him, apologize in a way that doesn’t make you look like even more of an ass.”

“And how would I do that?”

“By figuring it out on your own. It’s not really an apology if you’re just following my directions. You’ll think of something. Now I’m off to meet Leon for dinner – this is the first night in a week I haven’t been up to my elbows in village health reports. And Arthur, I know you’ll want to hide from this, but don’t. You’ll regret it for the rest of your days if you do.”

After Gwen hugged him goodbye, Arthur sequestered himself in his chambers to strategize. Avoiding Merlin was the easiest option, but he’d have to deal with Gwen’s disapproving looks and the fact that he’d never see Merlin again. And Arthur did want to see him, even if it was simply to admire him from afar while drinking his coffee.

Kings were supposed to be strong and resolute, to not shy away from a challenge. Arthur had no intention of pursuing Merlin – despite Gwen’s claims to the contrary, the kingdom expected Arthur to one day find Camelot a queen. At least, he assumed so. Though Gwen had implemented a system of surveying the people to find out what their concerns were, Arthur had forbidden any questions about his potential marriage partner from the list.

And anyway, considering his numerous blunders from the previous day, it wasn’t as though romance was at all a possibility. But to have Merlin view him as a friend, or at least as something other than an annoyance, would be nice.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning Arthur again stood waiting outside the Lazy Daisy. After a night of tossing and turning, he was pretty sure he’d figured out the perfect way to show Merlin he wasn’t a complete ass.

It was taking all of his self-control to remain patient and for once it had nothing to do with his craving for coffee. Well, maybe a bit, but even more so, he wanted to see Merlin and put in motion his plan for atonement.

There were some distractions to keep him occupied as he waited. The warm sun beating down on his back reminded him that he needed to finalize plans for the Midsummer celebrations. Camelot hadn’t yet received a reply from Iseldir, but Arthur was hopeful that the Druids would attend. Typically rejections were dispatched quickly, making the lack of communication an encouraging sign.

The people-watching was just as interesting as it had been the day before. Arthur recognized several of the faces from the previous morning. It made sense that Merlin had regular customers, but Arthur was still struck by how quickly the Lazy Daisy had become an integral part of city life. Merlin had only been in the city for a month, but already it was as if he’d been there forever.

His mind wandered to coffee. Gaius told him that Merlin discovered it on one of his voyages and Gwen said the drink was made from a bean. How far must Merlin have traveled to find such a strange plant? What had he seen along the way? Apart from military and diplomatic exercises, the responsibilities of the throne kept Arthur largely confined within Camelot’s borders. Though he couldn’t say he had any desire to live on a ship, there was a certain allure to being able to travel so freely.

As he made it closer to the counter, Arthur spared himself a few quick glances at Merlin. The man was just as nice to look at this morning as he had been yesterday. Not much had changed, though light stubble now covered his jaw, not that Arthur minded. While he’d swapped out his tunic from the previous day, he still wore the same purple neckerchief. The continuous exchange of coins for coffee had to provide him with enough funds to afford a new one, if not purple then definitely red or blue, yet all three times Arthur had interacted with him, Merlin had been wearing the purple one.

Arthur looked away. Filling orders kept Merlin busy, but if he caught Arthur staring at him, he might assume Arthur was sizing him up, judging him. He wouldn’t know that Arthur was actually trying to memorize every perfect detail about him.

Finally, it was Arthur’s turn.

“I see you’ve graced us with your presence again, my lord.”

“I didn’t think it would be fair for any of my staff to have to put up with you.”

Great. Merlin’s sass meant things were off to a bad start and now Arthur’s impulsiveness was making it worse. This mission might be doomed. No, damn it. If Arthur could negotiate a lasting peace with King Caerleon, he could handle a mouthy shopkeeper.

“That’s generous, sire,” Merlin smirked. “I’m sure your legion of servants are already exhausted from having to deal with you.”

Was that irritation or flirtation? Arthur reconsidered his earlier assessment of the situation. Even with swords drawn on one another, negotiations with Caerleon had been easier. Still, Arthur was going to try.

“Probably. From what I hear, I’m a bit of a prat. Why I still have anyone on staff is a mystery.”

Much to Arthur’s relief, Merlin barked out a laugh. For the first time since they’d met, something resembling genuine warmth flashed across his face as he looked at Arthur.

Grumbling from the patrons behind pulled Merlin back to the task at hand. Arthur reminded himself that it would be wrong to throw the tavernkeeper in the dungeons simply for wanting service.

“Coffee with milk and a scone?”

“Make it a muffin.”

Arthur fidgeted nervously with his coins, laying them out on the counter as he waited for Merlin to return.

“Oh not again. We talked about this yesterday. You can’t just buy people’s…”

“It’s not like that. I mean, it _is_ an apology, but not a bribe.”

“How do you figure? Because you’ve left five golds when you know that your order only costs…”

“You’re new here, so you may not know that Camelot hasn’t always been this prosperous.”

“It had a two-decade recession thanks to a top-heavy distribution of wealth that likely would have crushed Camelot if it hadn’t been for your overhaul of the tax code.”

How in the hell did he know about that?

“Gaius might have mentioned it,” Merlin explained. “What does that have to do with the five golds on my counter?”

“If you let me finish, I’ll tell you. Because the city is where most of the trade takes place, conditions here have improved the fastest. We have plans in the works for the villages, but some people choose to leave and take their chances here. They often arrive hungry and destitute. If you’re willing to accept the money as payment for their food, I’ll instruct the guards to send them here for a meal when they first arrive. The castle provides other forms of assistance, but I thought that being able to sit in your shop would be a better way to welcome them to Camelot.”

Arthur felt his face burn. The customers behind him were growing impatient and he hoped he hadn’t sounded too patronizing.

“That was not what I expected you to say,” Merlin admitted after a pause. “I can’t believe you’d ask that of me.”

“Can’t believe in a good way or a bad way?”

“A good way, you clotpole. Of course I’ll do it.”

“Thank you. I think. What’s a clotpole?”

The word was vaguely familiar, but Arthur couldn’t place it.

“It’s an old seafarers’ term. It means King Arthur.”

There was no malice behind the words, and Arthur felt his chest tighten.

“So you accept my apology?”

“It’s not really an apology, is it? It’s more of a policy decision.”

The warm feeling started to fade as Arthur realized he’d screwed things up yet again.

“Don’t look so worried. It’s a good policy and I’m happy to be part of it. I still think that at your core, you’re a major prat, but you at least have the good sense not to let your personal failings get in the way of serving your people. Now go eat your food before the tavernkeeper starts contemplating regicide.”

༻✧༺ ༻✧༺ ༻✧༺

Arthur’s policy regarding new arrivals earned him praise at the afternoon’s council meeting.

“I realize that it doesn’t solve the larger issue of income disparity in the outlying regions. We still need to find ways to improve rural standards of living, but I want migrants to feel welcome and included. Plus it helps support small business, which should lead to further economic growth.”

“I’m proud of you,” Gwen told him after the meeting adjourned.

“Because I was finally able to develop a good policy without your help?”

“That and because you made headway toward improving things with Merlin. He was surprised you chose his shop over the Rising Sun.”

“Gwen, your brother was dancing on the tavern’s tables last Friday night. What knights do off duty is largely their own business, but we wouldn’t want new arrivals getting the wrong impression.”

“So your only reason was to spare people the culture shock of Elyan shaking his hips?”

“Something like that.”

“And it had nothing to do with showing Merlin that you aren’t as big of a jerk as he’d initially thought?”

“No. Not at all.”

“You’re a horrible liar.”

“I still need to find a way to apologize for how rude I’ve been.”

“From what he told me when I saw him this morning, he’s pretty much over it.”

“But I don’t want him to simply tolerate me, Gwen. I want him to like me.”

“And why’s that?”

“No reason.”

“I knew you’d fall for him.”

“I’ve done no such thing. Merlin may be a new member of Camelot society, but he plays a vital role in people’s lives. As king, it’s important for me to be on good standing with him.”

“So his lips don’t factor into it?”

“Not in the least bit. Why would you say such a thing?”

“Because Leon and I were at a table watching you two. You kept glancing at his mouth when he spoke.”

“Was I that obvious?”

“Only to someone who knows you well.”

Gwen was being kind and Arthur knew it. By tomorrow the rumors would likely have spread all the way to Mercia.

“I suppose that settles it. I can never return. He’ll think I’m nothing more than a lecherous…”

“Stop that. You can go back and you will. You said you needed to properly apologize, remember? And anyway, it’s not like he wasn’t doing the same thing to you.”

“You’re saying that to make me feel better.”

“Yes, but also because it’s true. His eyes were…”

“Familiar. I swear I’ve met him somewhere before.”

“Oh?”

Arthur wasn’t so caught up in his thoughts of Merlin that he didn’t notice the change in Gwen’s demeanor. Her tone sounded light on the surface, but he could see her body stiffen. Toward the end of his life, Uther had developed memory problems. Maybe Gwen feared Arthur was in the early stages of the same affliction.

“Look, I know it’s not very likely. He’s from Essetir and he’s been at sea for years. But Gaius said he had a brief stint as a servant. Maybe the family he served came to court or… Anyway, it’s not a concrete memory. It’s more like when you try to remember a dream but can only recall the feeling.”

“And is it a good feeling?”

“Yes.”

Gwen might be his best friend but Arthur suddenly felt shy.

“You know,” she said, “it might be a memory, but it also might be a premonition, an echo from the future of what he’ll mean to you, of how well you’ll come to know him.”

“I really don’t think…”

“No, you don’t. But there’s hope for you yet, provided you keep talking to him.”

Arthur spent the rest of the day preoccupied with figuring out the best way to build on the progress he’d made that morning. The free meal policy was a good start in demonstrating Arthur’s concern for the people, but it didn’t adequately show remorse for how he’d treated Merlin.

During matters of diplomacy with other rulers, a gift often went a long way in smoothing over relations. Obviously money wouldn’t work. Arthur got the distinct impression that something expensive from the Camelot vaults wouldn’t do much good, either. Merlin seemed immune to displays of wealth and status.

That meant the gift would need to be something simple. Something that couldn’t be interpreted as Arthur flaunting his position and the trappings that came with it. But what would that be?

He was so preoccupied at training that Leon bested him in three separate duels.

“You could just talk to him,” Leon said as he helped Arthur up for the final time. “I’ve found that honest words go a lot farther with Gwen than grand gestures.”

Hours later, after careful thought through dinner and a bath, Arthur was still unsure. It was only when he was under the covers and about to drift off that he had the answer.


	5. Chapter 5

One of the challenges of maintaining a castle housing several hundred people was that the inhabitants could get hungry at any time of day or night.

And it wasn’t as though everyone kept the same schedule. Guards were on patrol continuously. Midnight emergencies might rouse Gaius from his bed. Some janitorial tasks were best conducted long after formal business hours had concluded.

As a result, the castle kitchens remained operational morning, noon, and night to ensure that everyone could get a hot meal regardless of the hour. This was another one of Gwen’s reforms, one she had suggested to Arthur even before his coronation. As a maid, she’d regularly encountered staff with growling stomachs.

Apart from raising the morale of the castle workforce, this change also made it possible for Arthur to carry out the first stage of his plan to win over Merlin.

Hilda, the older woman tending the hearth, gave no indication that it was odd for the king to be out of bed and dressed hours before dawn. She didn’t bat an eye when he requested a tray of food for two, or when he left with it, exiting through a door leading out into an alley. Hilda had worked in the royal kitchens for decades and had a clear memory of the oppressive atmosphere that had been in place when Uther reigned. Arthur could take as much food as he liked wherever he pleased. Especially since he was implementing something called a pension system.

Completely oblivious to Hilda’s daydreams about what she would do in five years when she qualified for retirement benefits, Arthur crept down the alleyway. Time was of the essence and he couldn’t risk being stopped by a guard. The tray, though not heavy, was cumbersome, which made it difficult to move quickly but soon Arthur was standing in front of his destination.

For a moment he hesitated, wondering if he was making a horrible mistake.

What the hell, he decided. Nothing risked, nothing gained.

His hands were full with the tray, so he lightly tapped the door with his boot instead of knocking. He waited. Nothing happened.

Though the curtains were drawn, he could see light through the tiny crack where they came together.

Arthur kicked again, this time harder.

“Come back later,” Merlin’s voice called through the door. “I’m not open yet.”

“That’s not why I’m here.”

Arthur hoped Merlin could hear his loud whisper. He didn’t dare yell, lest he wake the people sleeping in the rooms above the Rising Sun. The gossip would never end if they caught sight of him with the tray.

He was just about to kick the door a third time when he heard the jangling of keys, followed by the turning of the lock.

“Then why are you here?” Merlin asked, an annoyed scowl on his face. “And what are you carrying?”

“I’ll tell you if you let me in. Please. It’s important.”

Merlin sighed, but stepped back so Arthur could enter, then bolted the lock.

“Relax,” Merlin said as Arthur watched him. “It’s to keep others out, not you in. Say the word and I’ll gladly release you so I can get back to work.”

“Don’t you have someone to help you?”

This was Arthur’s fourth visit to the Lazy Daisy and not once had he seen anyone working there besides Merlin.

“For now, I’m running a solo operation.”

“Isn’t that hard?”

“It can be, especially when royal prats stop by to waste my time. Now hurry up and tell me whatever this important thing is that couldn’t wait until later.”

The rising frustration in Merlin’s voice indicated that Arthur might not have fully thought this through.

“Breakfast.”

“Breakfast?”

“I brought breakfast. For you. And me. To share.”

For a moment, Arthur wondered if his words weren’t matching up with his thoughts, because Merlin was looking at him as though he was talking nonsense. Hoping nothing had spilled and that the eggs were still warm, Arthur sat the tray on a table and lifted the lid.

“You really did bring me breakfast. Why?”

“To say thank you. My free meal scheme will bring you more business, but that will also create more work. And to say I’m sorry. Without your coffee, I’m not sure I would have made it through petitions the other day but I was incredibly rude when I showed up. And to do something nice for you. I know you have a lot of pastries. They’re really good, but I figured you might get tired of them and maybe you wanted something different because you have to serve them all day. Although I suppose I should have asked. It’s just that if I’d asked, then I would’ve had to come here first, and then go back to the kitchens, and by then…”

“Thank you,” Merlin cut in, saving Arthur from his nervous rambling. “It was incredibly kind of you and the food looks amazing. Are you alright?”

“Hmm?”

“Your smile… you look almost drunk.”

Arthur tried his best to rein in the goofy grin that had crept across his face.

“Quite alright. Let’s eat before it gets cold.”

“One second.”

Merlin darted behind the counter, returning with two mugs full of coffee.

“First pot of the day,” he said as he placed one in front of Arthur.

They sat across from each other and began to eat. The food gave Arthur a reason to remain silent, which was a relief. If he had a minute to collect his thoughts, he might be able to avoid another massive social blunder.

“Gaius tells me you were a sailor,” Arthur said when the silence dragged on for a little too long.

“I was – for about five years.”

“Did you like it?”

“It had its moments, mainly seeing new places. We even sailed as far as Egypt. That’s where I learned about coffee; traders from Axum, that’s where it’s grown, were selling it in a market in Cairo. On my last voyage, I spent much of my savings on coffee beans. Most of them I use in the shop, but I’ve also planted some to replenish my supply.”

Arthur tried to remember the geography that Geoffrey had taught him as an adolescent.

“Do the plants grow well here? I imagine Camelot’s climate is cooler than Axum’s.”

“Why King Arthur, you’ve got brain as well as brawn.” Arthur’s face warmed at Merlin’s cheeky praise. “You’re right. My trees would die if I left them out in the open, so behind the shop I’ve built a heated shed of glass panels where they can grow.”

“That sounds expensive.”

“I had enough savings to manage. When I get done here each afternoon, I tend to my plants. That’s why I have to close up promptly at midafternoon, even if it annoys the upper classes. Eventually I’ll be able to harvest the beans to roast and grind up for brewing.”

“How can you manage all of that on your own?”

“I’m a man of many talents.”

“I believe you, but that still sounds like far too much work for one person alone.”

“Let’s just say that I’ve worked out an efficient system.”

Arthur knew there was more to it than Merlin was saying, but decided not to press the matter so as not to annoy him.

“It must have been exciting to travel that far from the five kingdoms.”

“It was. But it’s nice to be back on dry land. Something better called me home.”

If he was already referring to Camelot as home, that was a promising sign indeed.

“Family?”

“Good guess. There’s my mother and Gaius, plus others I knew from before. My mother lives in Essetir, but the economy there wouldn’t sustain the shop. Camelot seemed like a better option. A crewmate often talked about the new king who’d come to power. Rumor has it that he’s wise and kind.”

“Must have been a disappointment to learn he’s a major prat.”

“Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to say a major one. Maybe a slight prat. He’s getting better.”

The tiny uptick at the corner of Merlin’s lips felt like a victory.

“So, um, what else did he say, this crewmate of yours?”

“ _She_ said that Camelot’s previous king was a cruel bastard, no offense, but in spite of that, the people were still friendly and welcoming.”

“She was right about my father. He made many mistakes that I’m still trying to correct. I didn’t know women served on ships.”

“Really? It may be uncommon, but I thought everyone here knew about Princess Elena.”

“Of course I know about Elena,” Arthur said, trying to think of a connection between the princess and the open ocean. “My father pushed us to marry, but we weren’t a good fit. I’m occasionally in touch with her, though mostly for diplomatic reasons now that she’s taking over most of Godwyn’s duties.”

“So you don’t know about her time at sea after your failed courtship?”

“It wasn’t really a courtship – it was our fathers playing matchmaker. And no. I heard she went traveling but not sailing.”

Of all the princesses Uther had shoved at him, Arthur liked Elena the most. She had been less stuffy and, while definitely not Arthur’s type, he always thought they could have been friends if she’d lived closer.

“Almost being forced into marriage caused her to change,” Merlin said. “She had a kind of identity crisis. After struggling to rediscover herself at home, she decided to spend time on a ship to gain new perspective.”

Arthur felt a pang of jealousy. Godwyn had always been more supportive than Uther. The failed courtship had been largely a relief for Arthur, but still uncomfortable. Calling off the marriage in the middle of the ceremony was awkward and Uther had lashed out at him for months afterward. To have been able to shrug off all obligations and go sailing would have been a blessing.

“How do you know this?” Arthur asked, genuinely curious.

“Her ship often sailed with ours. Elena knew the woman I told you about.”

“Your crewmates sound very interesting.” Arthur lifted his mug to find it empty.

“The crew of the _Excalibur_ was… unconventional,” Merlin called, already on his way to retrieve more coffee. “A lot of us were not your traditional sailors. I was taken on to be the ship’s healer thanks to the books Uncle Gaius sent me when I was young.”

“Does that make you a physician?” Arthur asked, shoving extra sausages on Merlin’s plate. He knew Merlin could take care of himself, but a little extra food wouldn’t hurt with the amount of work Arthur knew was in store for him once he opened his shop.

“Gods no. I can tend to basic injuries but there are many aspects of healing that I doubt I’ll ever master.”

It was too bad, Arthur decided. Having Merlin serve with Gaius would be an excellent way to move him into the castle.

“There was Gwaine,” Merlin placed a carafe of coffee on the table. He smiled as he eyed the sausages. “After his father died, he had to find a way to support his mother. He wasn’t the best at sailing, but few could rival him with a sword.”

“I’m sure I could best him.”

Merlin gave him a look.

“I suppose that’s something a prat would say,” Arthur conceded.

“So you can be taught.”

“Shut up. Tell me more about the woman.”

“Pick one. I can’t shut up _and_ tell you about her.”

“Stop trying to be clever. How did she end up on the ship?”

“It’s a complicated story. The short version is that she had a secret, nothing bad mind you, but it made her different from the rest of her family. As a result, her father disowned her. He got so mad that he even tried to kill her. She escaped with her life and little else. Eventually she ended up at sea to seek her fortune and stay away from him.”

“That’s awful.” Arthur meant it. He’d known his father could be brutal with those he perceived as enemies, but, perhaps naively, he hadn’t expected Uther’s betrayal of Morgana. To know that other fathers could be just as cold was disheartening. “What was her role on the ship?”

“She could… see the path ahead.”

“A navigator then?”

“Of a sort. She eventually took over as captain when the previous one retired. That was Kilgharrah. We called him the great dragon.”

“He must have been a beast of a captain!”

“Something like that. He was eccentric and cryptic. Sometimes he got on my last nerve, but I miss him. He returned to Albion with me, but took off on his own soon after. If the truth is told, I miss all of them.”

A worrisome thought crossed Arthur’s mind.

“Do you think you’ll ever go back to sea?”

“No. My sailing days are over. I’m glad to be back near family and besides, Camelot is a nice place to settle.”

“Even if its king is a royal ass?”

“Adds to the charm.”

Merlin held Arthur’s gaze as he said the words, then licked his lips. Was the man flirting with him? Arthur would be the first to admit that he wasn’t the most adept when it came to matters of romance, but there was something about the way Merlin kept leaning closer as they talked that made him wonder.

Another worrisome question occurred to Arthur.

“It sounds like you had a lot of friends on the ship. Was there anyone special?”

Please let that have sounded casual, Arthur silently prayed.

Merlin shook his head.

“No. I fell for someone years ago, before I went to sea. Nothing came of it – I didn’t even say anything. Then life got complicated and I had to leave, but my heart never moved on.”

There were some moments in his life Arthur knew he would remember forever – things like Morgana’s departure, his coronation, or the first time he took a blow from a mace. It had only been a training weapon, crafted from wood rather than steel, but, even in armor, the force was enough to leave him sprawled on the ground, bruised and unable to breathe. Hearing Merlin admit that he still harbored feelings for someone else had much the same effect.

It was completely unreasonable – he’d only met Merlin a few days before and had no claim to him. Still, his throat grew tight, but he willed himself to speak.

“Now that you’re back, you should remedy that. Find them again, tell them how you feel.” Arthur forced the smile he relied on during meetings with visiting nobles.

“It’s not that easy. We’ve both been through a lot. I tracked him down, and while he’s still a good man, he’s changed. He doesn’t even remember me. And yet I can’t move on. I imagine I’ll spend the rest of my days pining after him.”

“Him?” It was one thing to listen to Gwen’s assurances that Merlin liked men, quite another to hear it from Merlin’s lips.

“That’s not a problem is it?” Merlin’s tone shifted to defensive.

It was, but not for the reasons that Merlin was likely imagining. There was a man in Camelot Merlin was longing for, but the fool couldn’t be bothered to remember him. Merlin could walk out of his life right here and now, but there was no way Arthur would ever forget him.

“Not in the slightest,” Arthur said. “I think love is more important than convention. That’s another area where I differ from my father. He had very… rigid… views when it came to relationships. He believed the only reasons one should marry were to continue the family line and for strategy.”

“Strategy?”

“You wouldn’t believe the number of times he pushed me to marry a princess from a neighboring kingdom. He saw it as a way to build alliances and expand Camelot’s territory.”

“As Camelot currently has no queen, I assume you resisted his efforts.”

“Let’s just say there was a greater chance of my father marrying a sorcerer.”

“Were the princesses really that bad?”

“Just not my type. Besides if I was going to choose anyone to be my queen, it would be Gwen.”

“Oh.”

Was that disappointment in Merlin’s voice?

“What’s wrong with Gwen?” Arthur demanded. He liked Merlin, but Gwen was his best friend.

“Nothing,” Merlin said, clearly taken aback by Arthur’s open hostility. “It’s just that I thought she and Leon were together.”

“They are.”

“But you said you wanted her to be your queen.”

“Not like that. Since my coronation, she’s done the most of anyone to improve life in Camelot, myself included. Her policies are brilliant – she comes up with ideas that I could never imagine and I want her to have the recognition she deserves.”

“For what it’s worth, I think it’s pretty safe to say that her contributions are recognized beyond Camelot’s borders.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes. Sometimes on the _Excalibur_ we heard more news about Gwen than we did about you.”

Long ago that might have upset Arthur, but now it only caused relief.

“Good. That’s how it should be. There are times when I think the kingdom might be better off if I abdicated and handed the crown to her.”

“You’re probably right,” Merlin said, failing to hold back a smile.

“Like you would know. Anyway, Gwen doesn’t want to be queen. I asked her.”

“Does that mean you proposed?”

“Yes, when I was still the crown prince. She and Leon weren’t together then, in case you’re thinking I’m some kind of homewrecker. She turned me down immediately.”

“Smart woman.”

“Very,” Arthur agreed.

“Hey now, you’re supposed to fight back. It’s no fun if you give in. Besides, you’re not that bad – some might even say a good catch. I’m sure you’ll find a wife one day.”

Merlin was being polite, Arthur reminded himself. It was perfectly reasonable to assume that many single women would want to marry a king. There was the money and the power and the dedicated serving staff. Merlin’s words did not mean that he thought Arthur was marriage material.

“I, um, don’t want a wife.”

“That’s alright. Some people prefer to stay single.”

“True, and there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s just that I’m not one of them.”

“So if you don’t want to be single, but you don’t want a wife…”

“A husband,” Arthur said, his face catching fire. “If I ever did marry, I’d find a husband.”

“Oh.” Merlin’s voice was barely more than a whisper.

Arthur kept his eyes focused on his empty plate.

“Few people know – Leon, Gwen, her brother Elyan, maybe others who’ve overheard us. I’m not ashamed.” Arthur didn’t want Merlin to get the wrong impression. “But my father wouldn’t have reacted well and now, people have certain expectations for a king…”

He trailed off, remembering how many times he’d had this conversation with Gwen.

“Don’t worry,” Merlin said. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Of that, Arthur was certain. Merlin might not have much regard for title and status, but he embodied kindness and compassion.

“I wouldn’t keep it a secret. If there was someone special.”

Arthur wanted to make that point perfectly clear. Just in case. He afforded himself a quick glance at Merlin, whose cheeks had a pink twinge that hadn’t been there when Arthur looked away.

A loud bang at the door caused them both to flinch.

“Open up! We’ve been waiting for ages.”

“Duty calls,” Merlin said, helping Arthur stack their plates on the tray, “but thank you for breakfast.”

“Am I forgiven?”

“You’re getting there.”

Then Merlin smiled at him and Arthur feared he might drop the tray as he headed toward the door.


	6. Chapter 6

On his return to the castle, Arthur hummed to himself, caught up in daydreams of how he might spend more time with Merlin. His heart might belong to another but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be friends. Perhaps they could go riding, or on a picnic. Merlin had appreciated the food. Would inviting him to dine in the castle be too weird? Not if he invited Gwen and the others. Besides, Gwen liked Merlin. A dinner party could be fun. 

All those plans fell apart almost immediately upon entering the foyer.

A servant took the tray and ushered Arthur into a storeroom where George was waiting with formal clothes and a comb.

“There’s no time for you to go to your chambers,” George explained. “Iseldir’s envoy is waiting.”

The representative from the Druids brought the good news that Arthur had been hoping for. Iseldir had accepted Camelot’s invitation to the Midsummer celebration and a considerable delegation would attend. After formal statements were exchanged, the messenger had to be entertained. He stayed for a week and Arthur spent the time trying to assure him of his people’s safety while also gauging the Druid view of the new Camelot he was building.

“We believe you honestly desire peace,” the envoy said as he climbed into the saddle to depart, “but actions carry more weight than words. Changing your father’s laws would do much to help repair relations between our peoples.”

As he watched the Druid ride off, Arthur considered what he’d said.

Lifting the magic ban had been something Arthur had thought about even before he became king. As crown prince, he’d regularly witnessed how his father’s uncompromising position on magic had hurt those he was supposed to protect. And from what he’d overheard in hushed whispers, the Great Purge, which Arthur was too young to remember, had been even worse.

Of all the legacies Uther left, the ban cast the greatest shadow on the new society Arthur was trying to build.

The problem was that Arthur wasn’t sure of how to welcome sorcerers back into Camelot’s public life while also ensuring that they didn’t use their powers to cause harm. It wasn’t that he necessarily feared magic – he just didn’t understand it.

Efforts at talking to others seldom yielded anything helpful.

While the people of Camelot agreed that Arthur was a far better king than Uther, there was still an ingrained fear of speaking openly about all matters magical. Even Gaius guarded his words, offering Arthur noncommittal responses.

“Gaius told me that magic is a tool, like a knife or an axe,” Arthur explained to Gwen, “but he wouldn’t say if that meant magic can be safely allowed or that all sorcerers are secretly crazed axe murderers. What do you think?”

“I think you should go to the Lazy Daisy and see Merlin.”

“That won’t solve my dilemma.”

“Maybe not, but it will help you clear your head and put you in a better mood. You always get irritable when you think yourself in circles and you smiled when I said his name.”

“This is important, Gwen.”

“So is your happiness and maintaining a rapport with a valued shopkeeper. I have it on good authority that you’ve been ignoring Merlin. You haven’t been by to see him since you took him breakfast the other morning.”

“Because I was busy being a diplomat.”

“That might explain your absence but not why you stopped sending love notes for George to pass along when he goes to get your coffee each morning. You haven’t sent one in three days.”

It was true that Arthur had written short messages to Merlin during the first few days of the Druid’s visit. There was nothing remotely romantic about the well wishes for a good day or thanks for a pastry that was sent along even though Arthur hadn’t ordered one. Toward the end of the week, he’d been so preoccupied with diplomacy that he’d stopped writing them. Well, that and he was worried that he might be annoying Merlin.

“They were not love notes – they were friendly greetings. And how do you know about them?”

“Someone might have told me.”

“Please tell me you haven’t been talking to Merlin about me behind my back.”

“Ok. I won’t tell you. And since you asked so nicely, I won’t tell you what he said about you.”

“Stop playing matchmaker. His heart belongs to someone else; he told me.”

“Ooh! Were you being forward with him, Arthur Pendragon?”

“I was doing nothing of the sort. We were simply talking. Besides, you’re just trying to distract me. Do you really have no advice to offer?”

She pursed her lips and began walking the room. It was uncharacteristic of Gwen to hold back.

“I’m not him, Gwen. I hope that you of all people know that.”

“You’re not and I do. But it’s hard to talk about. Even beyond the grave, your father still casts a shadow.”

“Well he shouldn’t. I won’t allow it. Not in the kingdom we’re building.”

She stopped pacing and turned to look at him. “Do you want my honest opinion on magic?”

“Please.”

Gwen took a deep breath and for a moment Arthur wondered if she’d be able to get the words out.

“I think,” she said after a considerable pause, “that there are legitimate reasons to be fearful of it. You and I have witnessed firsthand the devastation caused by powerful sorcerers launching attacks against Camelot and its people. Even when a sorcerer doesn’t have ill intent, they can cause harm. Think of what happened before Morgana left, when she couldn’t control her power.”

Though it had been years, Arthur still had a clear memory of flames and broken glass as he’d raced into Morgana’s bedchamber to save her. Later, after her secret had been revealed, Gaius explained that she’d accidentally caused the fire as she struggled to contain her magic without formal training.

“So you think everyone with magic is dangerous?”

“No. Not in the slightest. We both know there are sorcerers living in Camelot right now who go about their days peacefully without causing harm to anyone. The current laws have forced good people into hiding, which opens the door to blackmail and exploitation. And if anecdotal evidence is to be believed, the ban has also led to preventable deaths, as sorcerers have hesitated to use their gifts for good purposes, like healing.”

“So you think I should rescind the ban?”

“Not entirely. If you don’t impose some limits, then you invite violent abuses of power. There needs to be a regulatory framework rather than a blanket ban.”

“I agree. But how should I regulate it?”

“I have no idea. Some restrictions seem obvious, like forbidding murder by magic, but then it gets complicated. I’ve heard that more powerful witches and warlocks can reanimate the dead and conjure devastating storms. I don’t know what other dangerous spells might exist. You need to find someone who actually understands magic to help you.”

“I thought Gaius would be that person but he freezes up every time I raise the topic. I don’t know how to convince him that I’m only seeking information, not trying to entrap him.”

“Think about it from his perspective. He lost so many people that he cared about during the Great Purge. It makes sense that he developed silence as a survival strategy.”

Once again, Arthur had to marvel at Gwen’s wisdom. He’d let his own insecurities cloud his judgment.

“Honestly,” Gwen continued, “what you need is a sorcerer that you can trust.”

“Those seem to be in short supply. I wish Morgana was here. Not just because she’d know what to do about the ban, but I miss her.”

“We all do. Not a day passes where I don’t think about her. But keep in mind that your father’s laws are what drove her away. If she hadn’t left as quickly as she did…”

“I know. And if you’ve noticed, no one has been executed, or even imprisoned, for sorcery since I took the throne.”

“Which is why Iseldir is willing to talk to you. It’s a start, a good one, but you’re going to have to do more if you really want to build trust and foster a lasting peace.”

Arthur sighed. Gwen was right.

“What if I were to announce a repeal of the ban at the Midsummer celebration?”

“Then you’d fix pretty much all problems with the Druids overnight. But do you really think you can pull it off? Repealing the ban is easy, but the regulations…”

“Are a pain in my ass, yes.”

“A pain in both of our asses. I have your back on this one.”

“So what do you think I should do?”

“I think you should go get coffee.”

༻✧༺ ༻✧༺ ༻✧༺

Rushing through the streets of Camelot was becoming a regular occurrence for Arthur.

Noon had long since passed and the chances of him making it to the Lazy Daisy before Merlin locked up for the day were growing slim, especially since Arthur had been accosted by the brewer’s husband, who ushered him off the street and into their house.

“Thanks to your generosity, sire,” the man said as he led Arthur inside, “my Beth was able to safely deliver our son. Without the midwife you provided, I would have lost them both.”

“Guinevere is the one who deserves the thanks,” Arthur said as he met the proud mother and her newborn. “The midwife plan was her idea.”

Arthur admired the baby, declined an offer of seed cake, and ducked out as soon as good manners allowed, hurrying on in the desperate hope that Merlin might still be open. It wasn’t so much the Lazy Daisy’s coffee that Arthur wanted, as it was to see the shop’s owner again.

Panting, Arthur stopped outside the door to catch his breath, then tried the latch. Finding it unlocked, he let himself in.

“Then make more,” a voice bellowed as Arthur entered the room.

“It’s not my fault you’re hungover and slept too late. I’ve told you I’m done for the day. Now get out.”

A man stood in front of the counter, looming over Merlin. Even from behind, Arthur could recognize the towering hulk that was Lord Gaheris. The man might have come from an aristocratic family, but there was nothing noble about him. It was his own business that he’d squandered a good portion of his family’s fortune on gambling debts incurred at the Rising Sun, but the man was looser with his fists than he was with money. He’d earned a reputation as one of the more unsavory regulars that frequented the tavern and had spent several nights in a cell for assaulting other patrons.

Though Merlin was as tall as Arthur, Gaheris, made of solid muscle, made him look small in comparison.

“I’m not going anywhere until you’ve learned how to address your betters.”

Gaheris took a swing and missed as Merlin ducked. Arthur saw him reaching for the dagger tucked in his belt.

“What seems to be the trouble?”

As Gaheris turned to face him, Arthur made a point to grasp the hilt of his sword.

“This wretch insulted me, refused to give me service, and told me to leave.”

“So why are you still here?”

Arthur unsheathed his sword and stared the man down. Gaheris was prone to rage, but his reflexes were slow. Was he really unhinged enough to come at Arthur with the dagger?

“Your father wouldn’t have allowed such insolence,” Gaheris spat as he finally backed down.

“You’re right,” Arthur replied, his tone calmer than he felt. “My father would have run you through already. But I believe in mercy. Merlin has worked hard all day. It wouldn’t be merciful to spill your blood on his floor.”

Gaheris appeared to finally be grasping the reality of the situation as he stormed past Arthur and out into the street, slamming the door behind him.

“Are you alright?”

Arthur sheathed his sword, then hurried behind the counter to look Merlin over. He couldn’t see any obvious injuries and Merlin wasn’t even shaking.

“Right as rain thanks to you.” He was far too upbeat considering what had been about to happen.

“Are you sure? Because you seem surprisingly collected for someone on the verge of getting crushed by Gaheris.”

“I could have handled him, but I didn’t want to steal your glory.”

Arthur couldn’t tell if he was serious or joking. Maybe he’d taken a hit to the head before Arthur stepped in.

“Let’s get you to Gaius. Have him look you over, just in case.”

“Arthur, I promise you that I’m fine. And I do appreciate you coming to my rescue.” He flashed a soft smile that Arthur was certain would feature heavily in his dreams that night. “I should probably lock the door before I clean up, so if you’re ready to go…”

“Let me help.”

He couldn’t say that he really wanted to spend part of his day engaged in mundane tasks, but it gave him a way to stick around in case Gaheris came back without telling Merlin that he was worried.

“I don’t think washing dishes falls within the standard duties of a king.”

“Maybe not, but how hard can it be? I mean, even _you_ can do it. All you have to do is wipe them.”

Merlin snorted.

“Anyway,” Arthur pressed on, desperate not to be sent away so he could keep watch, “it would be good for my education, so that I can understand the challenges my people face in keeping their homes neat and tidy.”

“You are ridiculous. And full of it. But the company would be nice, especially after the day I’ve had. In the interest of protecting your kingdom from assorted digestive ailments, I’ll wash the dishes. You can sweep the floor.”

Sweeping took longer than Arthur had anticipated; every time he thought he was finished, he found that he’d missed a spot, or two, or three. Fortunately, the task wasn’t as tedious as he had imagined it would be. After a day of entertaining a diplomat, agonizing over legal reforms, and staring down Gaheris, the simple, repetitive motion of dragging the broom across the floor was somewhat soothing.

It didn’t hurt that he could hear Merlin in the back room, splashing around in the basin of dishwater and humming to himself. By any measure he barely knew Merlin, but it felt so familiar to Arthur, almost domestic.

Stop it, he thought to himself. Merlin’s heart belonged to another and that wasn’t likely to change, even if his feelings weren’t reciprocated. Whoever the man was, he had to be the biggest fool in all the five kingdoms. Arthur jabbed his broom at a stubborn piece of sweet roll stuck to the floor while he imagined the earful he might deliver to that sorry excuse of a man about appreciating what’s in front of him and missed opportunities.

“Would you like me to walk you home?” Arthur asked when they finished the work.

“Worried that Gaheris is waiting to jump me?”

“No. He’s likely gone to sell his mother’s jewels for dice money. I’m more concerned that you’ll trip over your own feet and get hurt. I heard you fall when you went to empty the dish basin. You’re a danger to yourself and others.”

“At least I know how to hold a broom.”

“And now I do, too, thanks to your excellent lessons.”

“While I appreciate the offer, I am home. I have a loft above the shop. Although before I go there, I need to take care of my plants.”

“Can I see them? I’ve been wondering how you grow the beans.”

That wasn’t a lie or a stalling tactic. Arthur was genuinely curious about the plants, as well as the glass building Merlin had told him about.

“Right this way.”

They stepped out the back door of the shop into a fenced-in lot.

“I thought you said you kept your plants in a shed. This is bigger than some people’s homes.”

The glasshouse stood almost as tall as Merlin’s shop and must have cost a small fortune to construct – no wonder he only owned one neckerchief.

“I was trying to keep things simple so you could follow,” Merlin teased. “I’ve heard that knights can be a bit thick.”

Without thinking, Arthur playfully punched him.

“Ow! What was that for?!”

“Calling me thick.”

As Merlin fumbled with the lock, Arthur wondered why he hadn’t noticed the building from the street. Even with the coffee shop in front, the glasshouse should still have been visible above the fence.

“Close the door quickly,” Merlin urged. “Otherwise the butterflies will get loose.”

“What butterflies? Oh.”

As soon as Arthur stepped inside, a small blue butterfly landed on his nose.

Merlin laughed. “Behold! The mighty warrior king of Camelot.”

“I really should have thrown you in the stocks that first day.”

The butterfly flexed its wings, then flitted off to join others that were fluttering throughout the room, giving Arthur a chance to properly look around.

The walls were constructed from glass and iron, but Merlin had left the floor as dirt. A small path wove between three rows of – Arthur wasn’t completely sure if he was looking at oversized bushes or small trees. Several of them towered over him, obscuring his view of the far end of the glasshouse.

“You seriously did this all by yourself?”

“Yup.”

“You couldn’t have.”

“I told you, I have an efficient system.”

“So you’re not going to spill your secrets then. Never mind. I’ll figure it out eventually.”

Arthur was no stranger to impressive displays, but what Merlin had created was unlike anything he’d ever seen. Standing in a small indoor forest, surrounded by butterflies, beside the man he was secretly harboring feelings for, Arthur couldn’t remember ever having been so relaxed.

“Why do you keep butterflies in here?” They were beautiful though their bright blue wings distinguished them from the species native to Camelot.

“See how they’re landing on the flowers? They carry pollen between the plants. Without their help, the trees can’t make the beans.”

Arthur wandered among the trees, letting his fingers trail along the leaves. Something about the foliage of the plants and the angle of the lighting made Merlin’s grove appear endless.

“I suppose I should get going,” he said after a bit. “You’ve indulged me enough and I imagine you have a lot more work before you’re done for the day.”

“It was no trouble. Besides, it was the least I could do after you saved me from a vicious brute.”

Merlin led him from the glasshouse back into the coffee shop where he could exit on the street.

“Wait.” 

Merlin ducked behind the counter, then returned with a small sachet.

“Coffee,” he said, holding it out to Arthur. “Fill a small cauldron halfway. When the water starts to boil, pull it off the fire, the drop in the coffee and let it steep. Five minutes is about all it will take.”

Arthur pocketed Merlin’s offering.

“Is this to get me out of your hair for a while?”

“I certainly hope not. It’s good to spend time with a prat – helps me cultivate patience. But I know there are times when you’re too busy to leave. Save it for when you really need it. Or don’t and come back for more.”

We must not impulsively kiss our friends, Arthur reminded himself.

“Thank you,” he said instead. “For the coffee and for showing me your glasshouse. It was the highlight of my week.”

Merlin locked the door behind him and Arthur made his way back toward the castle.

If he happened to stop by the guard station to dispatch an extra sentry to patrol near Merlin’s shop, it had everything to do with promoting public order and nothing to do with Arthur’s personal feelings. Or at least that was what he told himself.


	7. Chapter 7

Later that night, Arthur locked himself away in the castle library, scouring old law codes and the few books on sorcery Geoffrey had managed to hide from Uther, trying to find the answer to his dilemma on the regulation of magic.

Since Merlin had made it clear that he wouldn’t mind another visit from Arthur in the near future, he decided to go ahead and brew the coffee Merlin had sent home with him, hoping it would help with the long night ahead.

Midsummer was exactly one month away and Arthur didn’t want to make a formal announcement without the appropriate restrictions already in place.

There had been a time when magic was permitted in Camelot, but previous monarchs had been less than precise when it came to outlining what spells were prohibited.

“None shall practice the sinister arts,” read one statute from two centuries past, while another banned “generally destructive practices.”

That was vague and unhelpful, Arthur decided. He could understand the spirit of the laws, but had enough experience to know that there were countless loopholes.

“Murder is a sinister art, but hexing my sister to loudly pass wind falls more under irritating than sinister,” he imagined in the voice of one of the petitioners from the previous week.

“Is casting a silencing spell on my neighbor really destructive?” another imagined plaintiff asked. “It’s the first time in decades the village has had peace and quiet.”

“Besides,” a third hypothetical voice chimed in, “what do you know? It’s not like you understand magic.”

The old law codes might give him a platform from which to start, but what Arthur really needed was to consult a sorcerer, preferably one he could trust and willing to answer his questions.

Unsure of what else to do, he retreated to his chambers, again writing to Morgana. It was a pointless exercise, he knew. She’d never read his words, but it still felt cathartic to lay bare his mind and his heart.

> I’m sure you’d be able to sort things. You were always good at exploiting our father’s loopholes, so I’m sure you’d know how to close all the ones I might leave open when I lift the ban.
> 
> Speaking of complicated messes, I met someone. He’s called Merlin and I might have caught feelings for him. You’d love him – it’s impossible not to. He’s incredibly kind and while I didn’t make the best impression at first, I think he’s warming to me. At least, he no longer calls me a prat every time he sees me. Not that it matters. He fell for another, some idiot who doesn’t have the good sense to love him back. Regardless, it’s been nice to make a new friend.
> 
> I wish you were here, Morgana, and not just because I’m in over my head with the repeal. I miss you. Camelot hasn’t been the same since you left.

He wrapped up the letter, then packed it away with the rest. One day he’d find a way to get them to her, not to pressure her to return, but to let her know she hadn’t been forgotten.

The sunlight starting to creep in through the window confirmed Arthur’s suspicion that he’d stayed up all night. He could try to get a few hours of sleep or he could seek out more coffee. It took Arthur all of two seconds to make up his mind.

༻✧༺ ༻✧༺ ༻✧༺

“Is that for me?”

Merlin’s eyes were fixed on the flower in Arthur’s outstretched hand.

“Hmm? Oh, yes. I thought you might want it. Because you named your shop after a daisy and it’s a daisy and…”

“Thank you. Although you’re going to have to let go if you want me to take it.”

“Sorry. I haven’t slept and I’m having trouble concentrating.”

“Should I send for a guard? Get someone to escort you home?”

“No, I just need coffee and I’ll be fine.”

“You should probably eat something, too. You look like you’re about to fall over. Go sit and I’ll bring it out to you.”

Arthur searched his pockets.

“Damn.”

“What’s the matter?”

“I, um, I might have forgotten to bring money again.”

Unbelievable. Of all the ways to sabotage their developing friendship, it had to be this one. He felt the tips of his ears catch fire as Merlin stared at him.

“It’s a good thing that you’re the king. Otherwise, you’d be doomed,” Merlin teased. “But not to worry. I have it on good authority from the proprietor that the prices have been adjusted today. You can get a coffee plus a scone and a muffin, all for the incredibly low price of one half-wilted daisy.”

“We do not kiss our friends,” Arthur’s brain again reminded him.

Merlin’s cheeks turned a deep pink, suggesting Arthur might have said that last thought out loud.

“You can stay to eat,” Merlin told him, “but then we really need to get you home. I fear for the safety of the kingdom if you’re allowed to stay out much longer.”

“Can you two plan your wedding later? Some of us have actual jobs to get to and we need our coffee.”

Arthur turned to scowl at the irritating man behind him.

“Shut up and be patient or you’ll be spending the day in a cell.”

“Apologies, sire. I didn’t realize…”

“You didn’t realize that the king is the world’s biggest prat when he hasn’t had any sleep or any coffee. Hang on, Tyr. Let me get him settled and I’ll be right with you.”

Merlin turned to Arthur.

“You need to go sit down. Now.”

His tone made it clear that there was no room for debate so Arthur did as he was told.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur said when Merlin finally came over with his food. “I…”

“It’s fine. We all get out of sorts when we’re sleep deprived. But I’m sending you home once you’re done.”

Merlin gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, then returned to the waiting customers.

Even after finishing off his meal, Arthur stayed seated. Merlin was too busy to chase him out and there was nothing pressing on his schedule for the morning. A few more minutes of people-watching couldn’t hurt. It was research. About life in Camelot. And one shopkeeper in particular. Besides, the meal had left him overly full. Why not wait for his food to settle?

༻✧༺ ༻✧༺ ༻✧༺

“Rise and shine,” a voice whispered in Arthur’s ear.

He ignored it.

“Shake a leg,” the voice continued.

Arthur groaned in response.

“Let’s have you, lazy daisy.”

The voice was louder and was now accompanied by a firm grip shaking him by the forearm. When had George become so obnoxious?

“Go away.”

“Alright. If you want the entire kingdom to see you sleeping in public, I’ll leave you to it.”

That wasn’t George, it was Merlin. And this wasn’t Arthur’s bed, it was a table in the Lazy Daisy.

“I might have drifted off,” Arthur conceded.

“You were out like the dead. I could hear you snoring across the room.”

“Where are all the people? Did I sleep until you closed?”

The room that had been crammed full of patrons when Arthur arrived was now empty, save for the two of them.

“No, it’s not even noon. I’m taking a short break from customers to relocate you somewhere less conspicuous. There’s a guard outside who can walk you back to the castle or…”

“Or what?”

“You could stay here.”

“At the table?”

“No, dollophead, in my loft.”

“What’s a dollophead?”

“A king who stays up all night, then falls asleep in a coffee shop. Now which will it be?”

Merlin let the guard in so he could hear directly from Arthur that the king wouldn’t be returning to the castle for a few hours, then Merlin helped Arthur out the same back door they’d used the previous night to go to the glasshouse.

“Why can’t I see it from the street?”

“See what?”

“Your glasshouse. It should be visible but…”

“You just haven’t looked hard enough. Come on. We need to get you up these stairs.”

An outdoor staircase on the back of Merlin’s shop took them to another doorway that Arthur assumed led into Merlin’s loft.

“Just need to unlock the door.” Merlin fumbled with the keys with one hand, while using the other to prop up Arthur. “Now in we go.”

“This is where you live?”

“Yes, and I know you’re nosy and want to poke around, but right now I need to get you to bed so I can go back to work. Sit.”

“Do you normally keep a bed made up for visitors?”

“This is my bed, you numpty. Lift your foot.”

Merlin pulled off a boot and stood it up beside the bed.

“And the other.”

Arthur allowed Merlin to divest him of the second boot, along with his belt.

“Arms up.”

Arthur complied so Merlin could lift his white tunic over his head.

“You’re quite good at undressing men.” The words escaped before Arthur, not fully conscious, could stop them.

“You learn a lot of things on a ship, including when trousers should be left on. Now climb under the covers. The sheets are clean. There you go.”

“Gaius said you once worked as a servant. Did you serve a nobleman? Maybe a knight?”

Arthur felt the weight of a blanket being draped across him.

“Something like that. Now stop asking questions and sleep.”

Warm breath ghosted across Arthur’s ear as Merlin leaned in to whisper the words.

Wrapped up in Merlin’s covers, his head resting on Merlin’s pillow, Arthur let sleep claim him. Just before he drifted off, he imagined the soft press of lips against his temple.

༻✧༺ ༻✧༺ ༻✧༺

Arthur awoke hours later to the sounds of his growling stomach. He couldn’t say how long he’d been sleeping, but the light that had been spilling in around the curtains covering the room’s sole window was now gone, leaving him bathed in darkness.

He couldn’t remember when he’d last felt so rested and relaxed. Even his dreams had been different. For the first time in over a month, there had been no nightmares of a disastrous Midsummer festival. Instead, Merlin had filled his dreams.

Though they were starting to fade, Arthur could remember bits and pieces of different scenes, all set in his past when he was still crown prince. Merlin cheering for him when he won a tournament. Sneaking out together late at night against his father’s wishes. Merlin helping him with his bath. That last one caused an uncontrollable shiver and he shoved it away. It wouldn’t do to have lewd thoughts about Merlin when the only reason Arthur was in his bed was because Merlin had saved him from an embarrassing debacle of his own making.

A part of him wanted to stay here a few hours longer, wrapped up in warm blankets, breathing in the comforting scent of lavender and coffee that filled the room. But a king’s work was never done and he’d wasted far too much time sleeping. Gwen and Leon had likely covered for him during the day’s affairs. He felt a pang of guilt – he hadn’t even told them he’d be leaving the castle, much less checking out for the day.

There would be hell to pay with Gwen, though whether that would be in the form of a well-deserved dressing down for neglecting his duties or an intense interrogation of what happened while he’d been in Merlin’s bed, Arthur couldn’t say for sure. The first would be preferable to the latter.

And then there was the matter of Merlin. Arthur had not only interrupted his business by falling asleep in his shop, but he’d spent the better part of the day in his bed after having paid for his order with a daisy. What would Merlin think of him now?

Part of Arthur wanted to sneak out and pretend the whole incident had never happened. But that would mean never seeing Merlin again because there was no way he’d ever let Arthur live this down. Besides, he was a knight, trained to bravely face peril, whether that be a rampaging army or potentially lethal levels of embarrassment.

Arthur groaned as he sat up and slung his legs over the edge of the bed.

“About time you woke up,” a familiar voice called. “I was wondering if you were going to sleep all night.”

Merlin stood in the doorframe, holding a candle. Much to Arthur’s mortification, his stomach growled again, louder than before, and he hoped the low candlelight hid the crimson he felt flooding his face.

“I’m afraid I’m all out of scones and too tired to bake more,” Merlin said as he walked over, setting the candle on the bedside table so he could help Arthur get dressed. “But the Rising Sun is still open. We could eat there.”

Arthur, foot halfway in his boot, tripped, crashing into Merlin, who proved surprisingly strong for his slight build.

“You said we.”

Merlin steadied Arthur so he could step into the other boot.

“Yes, numpty. We. You’re not the only one who’s famished. I was slammed right up until closing, the shop was a wreck, and I just finished with my plants. I haven’t had time to breathe, much less eat.”

“You’ll go with me?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s what I just said.”

“And we could share a table?”

“That is how eating together usually works.”

Merlin stood close to adjust his tunic and Arthur’s stomach jumped for reasons that had nothing to do with hunger.

“Come home with me.” He blurted out the words before realizing how they might sound. “To eat, I mean. The castle kitchens are better than the Rising Sun. Plus it’s loud and raucous and their food made Elyan sick for a week. Although it’s a bit of a walk and I know you’re tired so it was probably stupid of me to ask but I…”

“Arthur.”

“Yes?”

“I’d love to go with you.”


	8. Chapter 8

The trip back to the castle was largely a blur. Arthur had no idea what he was saying as he attempted small talk, but apparently his words made sense as Merlin laughed and bantered back with him. Arthur’s eyes wandered to Merlin’s lips and he had to remember to look away before Merlin noticed.

He must have done something to please the gods at some point in his life, Arthur decided when they began to eat, as he’d managed to not only get them to his chambers but also arranged for food to be sent to them.

Out of habit, he’d taken his seat at the head of the table, Merlin sitting directly to his right. They were closer than the morning when they’d shared breakfast but still far enough apart to keep Arthur from doing anything embarrassing like bumping their knees together or resting his head on Merlin’s shoulder.

Though George was low on his list of priorities, Arthur couldn’t help but notice the tiny smirk as he brought in the food. No doubt George would be reporting back to Gwen, who would in turn be waiting to ambush Arthur as soon as Merlin left.

Arthur shoved Gwen and George out of his mind and turned his attention back to the captivating man sitting beside him before he missed even more of the story Merlin was telling about his time at sea.

“… so Gwaine comes running down the beach stark naked, the entire village chasing after him. Fortunately, he’s a good swimmer and he made it back to the ship before they could catch him. We were gone before they could launch a boat but…”

Merlin continued relaying the tale of a card game gone wrong, gesturing with his hands, seemingly oblivious to the effect it was having on Arthur. He didn’t mean to be rude. It was just that those fingers, so long and slender, were impossible to ignore. And his mind was going places it shouldn’t.

He loves another, Arthur reminded himself.

“Although, I suppose that as king, you have far more interesting stories to tell.”

It took a few seconds of silence for Arthur to realize that Merlin had stopped talking and was now waiting for him to carry on the conversation.

“I…”

Arthur could do this. There was no reason to feel nervous. He was the king and entertaining visitors came with the job. He had mastered polite conversation while in adolescence. There was no reason for his heart to pound or his palms to sweat.

Except that this wasn’t a diplomat or a trade envoy or a petitioner. This was Merlin, and he was far more important. Even as a friend, Arthur desperately wanted to impress him.

Which was a damn shame, he decided as he tried and failed to remember anything of interest besides Merlin’s perfect lips.

“Not really,” Arthur finally managed. “I mostly sit on a fancy chair and people tell me how great I am.”

“I imagine you like that.”

Was it possible to become desensitized to Merlin’s smiles? Arthur doubted it.

“It’s more exhausting than it looks.”

“True. What would I, a mere servant turned sailor turned humble shopkeeper, know about the strain that comes from a hard day of being showered with praise? It doesn’t seem right. But, because you are a deserving king, I’ll happily help ease your burden. You can take over my shop for a week, and I’ll endure the bombardment of compliments.”

Arthur tried to imagine running the Lazy Daisy alone.

“While I would love to take you up on your offer, I think that it’s safest for your business if I don’t. I thought petitioners were demanding but then I listened to how people bark orders at you. I’m surprised you haven’t been brought in on murder charges.”

“It’s a good thing you can’t read minds because there have been a few that I wouldn’t mind feeding to a wyvern. Honestly, most people are fine. Although _some_ need their coffee to be civil.”

That sounded dangerously close to flirting. Arthur wiped his palms on his breeches and tried to push forward.

“Yes, well, some of us aren’t naturally bright and cheerful daffodils.”

The room was suddenly far too warm and Arthur felt the overwhelming need to crawl under the table. Instead, he refilled his wine, then swallowed the goblet’s contents in one gulp.

“So you think I’m a daffodil?”

Merlin had pushed his plate to the side and propped his elbows on the table, leaning in closer while holding Arthur’s gaze.

“I mean… they have tall stems and you’re tall. Your ears are all…” Arthur gestured around his own head. “You know. Like petals. And your smile makes the whole world glow.”

The distance between them had gotten smaller. Arthur couldn’t say if he was the one who’d moved, or if that had been Merlin, or maybe both of them. All he knew was that Merlin’s lips were so close that he could feel Merlin’s breath.

Just another inch and they would be touching.

Merlin, eyes half-lidded, let out a soft sigh, giving every indication that he was thinking the same thing.

That realization hit Arthur so hard he had to steady himself, bracing an arm on the table. And that was when it happened – his first great blunder of the night.

Time slowed to a standstill as the cool glass of the wine bottle collided with his misplaced hand, sending it toppling toward Merlin’s lap. Knights were meant to have lightning reflexes, yet Arthur found he couldn’t move. Horror at what he’d done cemented him in place. Soon Merlin would be rushing from the room after the wine doused his clothes and the spark that had been developing between them.

His beautiful future with Merlin was ending before it could even begin and Arthur was powerless to do anything except listen to the glug of wine spilling onto the table and into Merlin’s lap.

“You really are a dollophead. It’s a miracle you make it through your days. Your staff deserve hazard pay.”

Arthur’s momentary paralysis lifted and he turned to watch Merlin set the bottle on the table, this time out of arm’s reach.

“But I knocked it over.”

The words came out half-slurred, his thoughts moving slowly. He had been drinking, yes, but not so much that he should be this impaired.

“And I caught it.”

“You couldn’t have.”

“I did.”

“That’s impossible. I heard it hit the table and the wine was spilling and…”

“I think you’ve had too much.”

“The table’s not even wet.”

“Because I caught it before it hit. I was fast.”

Arthur supposed Merlin was right. How else could he explain the obvious absence of spilled wine? He’d been so sure that he’d heard it pour out, but maybe he really had been drinking too much.

His head began to pound and he struggled to concentrate. There was something about his mental fog that he couldn’t quite place – it was somehow familiar, just like the headache. Arthur focused, trying to make the connection. There was a memory of a girl. She had come to Camelot with her father. Sophia! That was her name. Arthur hadn’t thought about Sophia in years.

They’d done something together, something that had enraged Uther.

Oh gods. Arthur had proposed. They were going to get married. How could he have forgotten something like that? He’d never been drawn to women romantically, yet he had felt compelled to marry Sophia. Had they run off together? They had! And then something stopped Sophia, saving him. Arthur tried to remember what happened next, but the headache grew stronger, making his stomach churn.

Somehow he’d ended up back in his bed, waking to find Gaius keeping watch.

Except Gaius hadn’t been alone – there had been someone next to him. Someone important. Someone he loved. Not his father. Morgana? Gwen? No. He was so close to remembering – if he could push past the pounding in his head. There were hazy wisps of brown and red. It was so familiar and yet…

“Are you alright?”

Arthur felt cool fingers curl gently around his wrist.

“Sorry. I remembered something from years ago that I thought I’d forgotten. Except there are pieces missing and…”

“What was it?”

The room began to spin as Arthur again tried to access the memory; he feared he might be sick at the table.

“I…” Arthur couldn’t concentrate, not with the pressure building in his head. “Nothing. It was nothing.”

“It seems,” Merlin said as he helped Arthur from his chair, “that you’re making a habit of having me help you to bed.”

Merlin was flirting with him! That realization broke through the waves of pain and nausea flooding Arthur’s head.

“Is that a problem?” Arthur asked, leaning against him as they crossed the short distance from the table to his bed.

“Only if this is something you regularly expect of those you dine with,” Merlin said as he pulled back the covers and then helped him sit on the mattress.

Arthur felt a goofy grin spreading across his face but he was powerless to stop it.

“You’re the first,” he said, his mouth moving before the more rational and guarded parts of his mind could catch up to take charge of the situation. “And the only.”

“Good,” Merlin said, his eyes level with Arthur’s.

“But the man from before. The one you loved…”

“Maybe it’s time to dwell on the present rather than the past. But we can talk about that later. For now you need to sleep.”

“Don’t think I can,” Arthur said as Merlin helped him with his boots and belt for the second time that day. “My head…”

“Is all better,” Merlin said, pressing a warm palm against Arthur’s forehead. “Here. Lie back.”

Reclining on the pillows, Arthur opened his mouth to protest only to discover that Merlin was right. While he still felt the effects of the wine, the throbbing pain had vanished.

“How did you know?”

“I was the closest thing my ship had to a physician. Call it healer’s intuition.”

He tucked the blankets around Arthur’s shoulders before turning his attention to extinguishing the candles that lit the room.

“More like your magic touch,” Arthur blathered, too close to the edge of sleep to watch his words. “That’s what made it better. That and your pretty eyes. You really are magic. Magical Merlin.”

There was a loud clang of metal against the stone floor and the room went dark.

“Are you alright?”

“Knocked over the candelabra, that’s all. I should go. I have to be up early in the morning.”

All the warmth from earlier had abruptly faded from his voice, meaning Arthur had somehow screwed things up.

“I’m sorry. I was a terrible customer and then an awful host. You’ve worked all day and now you’re having to help me…”

“It’s fine. But I need to go.”

“Let me make it up to you. I have petitions again in the morning but tomorrow night we could…”

“I can’t. There’s some work I’ve been putting off with my plants.”

“Ok. Well what about the next day?”

“It will probably take a week. I need to prune them.”

“Then next Thursday maybe we could…”

“I’ll be busy then too.”

“The week after?”

“I have plans. There’s someone I’ve been meaning to visit.”

“Oh. Well, when things calm down, maybe we could work something out?”

“Maybe. Good night Arthur.”

There was a brief flash of torchlight from the corridor, then the door closed, leaving Arthur wondering just what the hell had happened.

He tossed and turned, unable to sleep as the night’s events replayed in his mind. Things had been going so well until they suddenly weren’t.

Merlin didn’t seem angry that Arthur had fallen asleep in his shop, that Arthur was incredibly clumsy, or that he’d needed help to his bed.

Arthur didn’t remember saying anything insulting and he was almost certain that Merlin had wanted to kiss him.

So what had gone wrong?

Unsure of the answer, Arthur reached for the emergency sleeping draught he kept in the bedside table’s drawer and downed it.

༻✧༺ ༻✧༺ ༻✧༺

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Arthur was sharing breakfast with Gwen at his desk, the dining table still covered in the remnants of the previous night’s disastrous dinner. Though he’d grumbled when she’d arrived at first light, he was grateful. It was nice to have a friend and he’d likely have slept through petitions without her intervention.

“I thought you weren’t my servant.”

“I’m not. I’m your nosy friend who had hoped to spend her morning hearing all the juicy details of your date.”

“It wasn’t a date.”

“Is that right? Because from what George said, you and Merlin were making eyes at each other like two lovesick teenagers.”

Arthur sighed and picked at his bacon.

“We were until we weren’t. I thought he liked me and then…” Arthur took a sip of the coffee she’d brought him. “I really need to give this up. I don’t think I’ll be welcome at the Lazy Daisy ever again.”

“What did you do?”

“That’s the thing. I don’t know.”

Gwen raised her eyebrow in a way that suggested she’d been taking lessons from Gaius.

“I really don’t. I wasn’t rude.”

The eyebrow went higher.

“I listened to his stories – he talked more than me. I might have been a little awkward. I did compare him to a daffodil and I might have almost spilt wine on him.”

“A daffodil? You’re farther gone than I thought.”

“Then everything went wrong. I started feeling strange. It was like… time wasn’t moving properly, if that makes any sense, almost as though it had slowed down. I felt disoriented and I got a splitting headache. Merlin had to help me to bed. He laughed at me, by the way.”

“As he should have,” Gwen said, stealing an extra roll off his plate.

“Everything was fine, even after I’d made an ass of myself. I was in bed, starting to feel better, but then… oh gods. Gwen, I royally screwed up.”

“Which takes us back to my original question. What did you do?”

“I might have accused him of being a sorcerer.”

“Why?” Gwen hadn’t used that exasperated tone with him in years.

“It was a joke. My headache started to break and I said he had…”

“Said he had what?”

“Nothing.”

Arthur shoved an entire roll in his mouth so he would have an excuse not to talk, looking away to avoid Gwen’s piercing gaze.

“Please tell me,” she finally said, “that you didn’t say he had a magic touch.”

Arthur helped himself to another roll.

“You did!” She clapped her hand over her mouth. “I can’t believe you sometimes. You should never be left alone. We worry about assassins when you’re hands down the greatest threat to yourself in all the five kingdoms.”

“I really can’t argue with you on that one,” Arthur conceded. “It’s entirely possible that I called him Magical Merlin.”

He didn’t have to reach for another roll because Gwen lobbed one at his head.

“The thing is, the way he reacted – it wasn’t like cringing at a bad pick up line. His whole demeanor changed. He went cold and made it clear he doesn’t want to see me again anytime soon.”

Arthur began stacking the used plates, giving his hands something to do as he tried to work through what had happened.

“Maybe he hates magic. It’s legal in Essetir, but maybe he had a bad run-in with a sorcerer. Maybe that’s why his mother sent him away.”

Arthur rose from the desk and moved on to piling up the dishes left on his dining table from the night before.

“Maybe,” Gwen’s voice called behind him, “he knows that magic is still banned in Camelot. I don’t think anyone would want the king associating their name with sorcery, even as a joke.”

“But I’m rescinding the ban.”

“Have you told Merlin that?”

“No. But it’s not as though I’ve been enforcing it.”

Finished with the dishes, Arthur moved on to getting ready for the day ahead. The dressing screen provided convenient cover to avoid Gwen’s eyes.

“True. But you know how people talk. Working at his shop, Merlin’s probably heard a lot of stories about your father and how things used to be.”

Gwen always understood things better than he did. As he stripped off his old clothes, Arthur pondered what he should do. If Merlin genuinely didn’t want to see him, that was something that Arthur could accept. He wouldn’t like it, but he would respect it. For Merlin to avoid him out of fear, though, that was something else entirely.

“I need to talk to him,” Arthur said when he emerged from behind the screen dressed for petitions. “And apologize for making him feel uncomfortable.”

“Very good,” Gwen said as she adjusted his tunic. “I’m glad to see my efforts at taming you weren’t in vain. There was a time when you would have called Merlin rude and written him off.”

“Oh gods.”

“What?”

“Speaking of being written off – he said he was too busy to see me later this week and then next week he’s going to visit someone.”

“Who?”

“He didn’t say, but I’d bet you anything that it’s the man he fell for years ago, before he went to sea.”

“You don’t know…”

“It has to be. Nothing else makes sense. I bet he lives in Essetir where no one would care if Merlin really was a sorcerer.”

He took a quick look in the mirror and realized he’d forgotten to comb his hair.

“Would you care?” Gwen was standing behind him, watching him assault the mess on top of his head.

“Would I care about what?”

“If Merlin was a sorcerer. I’m not saying that he is,” she added quickly. “I just wonder, would you still feel the same way about him if he had magic?”

“Of course,” Arthur said without hesitation. “It might take time to get used to, but I would be the world’s biggest hypocrite if I rejected someone for being a sorcerer while calling on the rest of Camelot to accept magic users.

“Good. That was the right answer. Now hurry up or you’ll be late for petitions.”

He was almost to the door when he thought of something else.

“Gwen, do you remember a woman called Sophia? She came to Camelot about a decade ago. I rescued her and her father from bandits.”

Gwen frowned in thought.

“Vaguely. I don’t think I ever met her, but I do remember Morgana having nightmares about her. She couldn’t relax until Sophia left. Why?”

“Last night, there was something about the headache that made me think of Sophia. I have memories of proposing to her and trying to elope. I renounced my title, snuck off with her, then woke up with Gaius sitting beside me.”

“That must have been some headache if it caused you to hallucinate.”

“So you don’t think I ran off with her?”

“Arthur, you were the crown prince. If just one piece of what you told me had actually happened, the kitchen maids would still be talking about it.”

“Maybe I was imagining things. The memory felt so real though.”

“You don’t even like women.”

“True. But that didn’t stop me from proposing to you.”

“Only because you subconsciously knew I’d turn you down. In all the time I’ve known you, I can’t imagine a scenario where you’d willingly give up your crown for a bride.”

“That’s just it. In my memories, I didn’t want to do it, but I felt compelled to. Almost like someone was making me, like I’d been enchanted. It’s hard to describe. And to add to it, there was someone else with Gaius looking after me. It wasn’t you or Morgana, but it was someone just as important to me.”

“Your father?”

“No. Someone I was close to – someone I think I loved.”

“Can you recall anything about them? What they looked like or what they were wearing?”

“Just a few snippets of color – maybe a red tunic. Or maybe that was my blanket. I don’t know. It felt so real at the time, but now I’m not sure. Are you sure you don’t remember me running off with her?”

Gwen shook her head. “There is no way I would have forgotten that.”

Arthur sighed. “I hope I’m not losing my mind.”

“Maybe the best thing for now is to sleep more. I heard about how you were snoring in the Lazy Daisy yesterday. You were probably overtired.”

What Gwen was saying made sense. And yet, it felt like something else had happened, something he couldn’t quite explain. But that would have to wait. The sooner he finished petitions, the sooner he could attempt to smooth things over with Merlin.


	9. Chapter 9

It was well past mid-afternoon when Arthur delivered his final ruling of the day, but dusk was still several hours away.

As was often the case, summer brought fewer grievances than winter and spring. The warm weather made it easier for people to get out of their homes and put distance between quarreling relatives and neighbors.

Arthur meandered through the streets, using a less direct route to the Lazy Daisy to give him time to figure out what to say to Merlin.

He’d had the entire day to overthink things and waver back and forth over what to do. As soon as he’d convinced himself that the best approach was to directly apologize for implying Merlin had magic, he would start to doubt that was what had been the problem in the first place. Maybe he’d been too forward, their almost-kiss and subsequent banter causing Merlin to panic. A blanket apology might be better. But if Arthur kept it vague, he wouldn’t know what he’d done wrong, which meant he wouldn’t be able to avoid the same mistake in the future. 

If there even was a future. All of this depended upon Merlin’s willingness to see him. The realization that Merlin might refuse to even hear him out, might already be packing to run off in search of the man he loved, destroyed the modicum of confidence Arthur had built up wandering through the busy streets.

He knew the door would be locked when he reached the Lazy Daisy, but Arthur tried it anyway, foolishly hoping that Merlin might still be open and he could pretend to be on a coffee run. It refused to budge. He could accept defeat or he could knock and risk annoying Merlin.

What the hell, he thought. Merlin was already annoyed. He might as well take the risk at making things right.

He rapped his knuckles against the wood. After a moment, he tried again, this time louder. Still no luck.

Trying his best to be discreet, Arthur peered in the windows. The shop was dark, save for the light spilling in through the glass. There was no sign of movement behind the counter. He’d thought Merlin would still be cleaning up, but maybe he finished up early. That meant he’d likely moved on to tending his plants.

Arthur considered his options. He could try picking the lock. Morgana had given him basic training when they were teenagers, but he’d never quite mastered the art and it wouldn’t be a good look for the king to be caught attempting to break into a Camelot business. There was a small gap between the Rising Sun and the Lazy Daisy, revealing the fence around Merlin’s back lot.

Arthur crept down the alley to the fence. After glancing around to make sure no one was looking, he tried to scale it, but found it more difficult than it appeared, the wood more slippery than wet stone. The longer he tried, the stranger he felt, that same sensation from the previous night starting to overwhelm him again.

He made a mental note to visit Gaius when he got back to the castle, then moved on to a different approach.

༻✧༺ ༻✧༺ ༻✧༺

“I need to inspect your rear.”

The barman at the Rising Sun gave Arthur a look that indicated his words could be open to multiple interpretations, including one that had nothing to do with the back door to the building required by the new fire code. And would earn anyone but the king a punch to the face. After a moment of awkward silence, the man yielded, gesturing for Arthur to follow him behind the bar and through the kitchen.

Just as Arthur had suspected, an assortment of empty barrels and crates were piled behind the Rising Sun. While Leon had objected to them during the last fire safety inspection, arguing that they could topple and block the exit, Arthur was grateful to find the Rising Sun hadn’t heeded the royal warning citation.

With some careful stacking, Arthur managed to cross Merlin’s fence, briefly experiencing the now-familiar light headedness before landing with a thud in Merlin’s back lot.

Dusting himself off, Arthur made his way toward the glasshouse. It was odd. Even when his pile of crates had lifted him as high as the top of the fence, he still hadn’t been able to see the glasshouse, not until he was in Merlin’s lot. But then he had been distracted and might have missed it.

Remembering the butterflies, Arthur hurried inside and closed the door behind him.

It was as captivating as he remembered, the small blue wings fluttering amongst the trees. Arthur afforded himself a minute to stare in wonder, then set out to find Merlin. It seemed that the rows of plants stretched longer than the dimensions of the building, longer than Merlin’s lot even. Gwen was right – Arthur really did need to sleep more.

After walking what felt like at least a mile, Arthur finally found Merlin.

He was standing beside a tree that looked poorly, its green leaves marred by brown spots. Merlin was gently holding a branch, his mouth moving.

Arthur couldn’t understand his words – they sounded like nothing spoken in the five kingdoms. But then he hadn’t traveled as far as Merlin. Maybe that was the language of Axum, where coffee originated. Arthur strained to listen without disturbing Merlin. There was something about the flow of his words – it wasn’t regular speech, it was almost, but not quite, chanting.

Was he really singing to a plant? Arthur felt a surge of affection as he stepped closer.

The rays of the setting sun filtered through the panes of the glasshouse, reflecting in Merlin’s eyes to give them a golden glow so captivating that Arthur forgot to watch where he put his feet, kicking over a metal water bucket.

“Arthur!”

Merlin spun around, his eyes switching back to blue as he turned his back to the sun. The color faded from his face and he recoiled as Arthur continued his approach.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. The door to your shop was locked so I climbed the fence…”

Merlin remained silent, staring at him in horror. Realizing he might have made a terrible blunder, Arthur began to ramble.

“Now that I’ve said it out loud, I can see how that wasn’t the best move on my part. Makes me seem creepy. I should’ve waited until you opened tomorrow, but here I am. Is your plant sick? I don’t know much about botany but I imagine those spots aren’t supposed to be there. Are you using your skills as a healer to take care of it? That’s very sweet of you.”

Merlin stood with his mouth open, his expression shifting from horror to confusion to something unreadable.

“Arthur, why are you here?” he finally asked.

“I need to apologize. Again.”

“For what?”

“Last night. I was out of sorts and I made you feel uncomfortable. I understand if you’d rather not spend time with me anymore, but I wanted you to know that I am sorry.”

Merlin let out an exasperated breath.

“You never could make things easy. Do you know how much simpler this would be if you were still the rude, arrogant, patronizing ass you used to be? I could watch you from afar and it would be fine. You’d be a pretty face with the personality of a serket. But no. You might not be the most socially adept, but you are a decent man with a genuinely good heart.”

“You think my face is pretty?” Arthur had other questions regarding Merlin’s outburst but he started with the one that seemed most pressing.

“Never mind that. Arthur, you didn’t do anything wrong last night. Nothing you said was out of line – some of it was a bit ridiculous, but none of it was offensive. There are just… things… about me that you don’t know. Things that make it difficult for me to get close to you, even if I really want to.”

Of all the ways that this could have gone, this felt the cruelest. Merlin seemed to like him, yet it was clear that not only would there be no romance in their future, but friendship was likely out of the realm of possibility as well.

“It’s just,” Arthur began, floundering for a way to keep the conversation going, “if there was something I said, like when I joked that you had magic, I didn’t mean it. I can understand how that could be upsetting, especially if you’ve heard stories about Camelot’s past. I want the future to be different. I’m going to rescind the ban.”

Apparently it was the day for clumsiness, as Merlin somehow managed to trip over his own feet while standing still, falling to the glasshouse floor.

“You are?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Merlin accepted the hand Arthur offered to pull him from the dirt. Arthur could’ve sworn that he felt a spark between them, but then Merlin jerked his hand back and it was gone.

“At Midsummer. You’re the only person I’ve told, apart from a few trusted advisors. I’ve been thinking about lifting it for years.”

“What made you decide?”

Arthur ran his fingers through his hair.

“The other morning, when I brought you breakfast, you said that you had a crewmate who talked about Camelot’s past and how much she hated my father. I’m sure you’ve heard something similar from the patrons who frequent your shop.”

“I…” Merlin hesitated.

“It’s ok. I’m not asking you to out anyone who’s critical of the government. The truth of the matter is that my father had a cruel streak. I don’t know exactly what set him off against magic – it had something to do with my mother dying right after I was born.”

“I’m sorry.”

Gentle fingers closed around Arthur’s forearm, then quickly retreated.

“Thanks. I know it makes me sound like a cold-hearted son, but from the stories I’ve heard, I kind of wish he’d been the one to die instead of her. It would have been better for Camelot if he had.”

This was a secret Arthur had never told anyone, Gwen included.

“What he did, the horror of it, can’t be put into words. I was too young to remember the Great Purge, but I saw how he brutalized sorcerers in the years that followed. If there was any remote suspicion that someone had magic…”

Merlin’s face was hard to read, the dimming light from the setting sun not helping.

“He always told me that sorcerers couldn’t be trusted, that they were a threat that had to be crushed, but even when I was young, that didn’t make sense. How can an old woman healing her grandchildren be a threat or a farmer trying to save his crops from pests? And then there was Morgana.”

Until this point, it had been relatively easy to talk about magic with Merlin, but the memory of Morgana fleeing in the middle of the night still felt raw even though it had been half a decade since Arthur had last seen her.

“Morgana?” Merlin prompted, returning Arthur to the conversation.

“My sister. Half-sister actually. She came to live at court after her parents died and we grew up together. Uther tried to hide his affair with her mother, but we found old letters one afternoon while snooping around in his chambers. He was livid but eventually owned up to it. I think that’s part of why he was so enraged that she had magic. Gaius said she was born with it and our father saw that as an act of betrayal, as if she had control over it. Until then, I hadn’t realized innate magic was possible. Have you ever heard of such a thing?”

“A couple of times,” Merlin said.

“I suppose traveling as much as you did, you’ve heard a lot. And seen a lot, too.”

“Oh, this and that. What happened with Morgana?”

“She was powerful but couldn’t control her abilities. When our father found out, he disowned her, then drew his sword on her. I think he meant to kill her. I held him off so she could run.”

“That must have been horrible for you.”

“Not as horrible as what Morgana went through, but he never forgave me for it. I spent a month in a cell – that was the lowest point of my life. It felt like my heart had been ripped out, like I lost a part of myself. The night she left was when I realized that the ban had to go. I don’t know where Morgana wound up, but I hope she’s safe.”

“I’m sure she is.”

“You sound surprisingly certain.”

“Well, if she was as powerful as you say…”

“True. But Uther’s been dead for years and I haven’t heard anything from her. Sometimes I miss her so much it hurts. I don’t blame her for starting a new life somewhere else and I understand that she might never want to speak to me. I just wish she’d let me know that she’s alright.”

A moment of silence passed between them, then a thought dawned on Arthur.

“What do you know about magic?” It was only after the words came out that Arthur realized how accusatory they sounded.

“I only ask,” he continued, “because I’m struggling with how to implement the repeal. I’ve invited the Druids to the Midsummer festival. My plan is to announce it as part of the celebrations. That seemed like a good idea when I first thought of it, but now I have less than two weeks and I’m beginning to panic.”

“What’s giving you trouble?”

“I know that my father was wrong about magic. I want all my people to feel safe and included, and I think magic could help make the kingdom stronger. My problem is that I don’t know how to lift the ban while still restricting dangerous forms of sorcery – the kinds that kill, or take over people’s free will, or raise the dead.”

“That’s a wise precaution,” Merlin said. “Some spells can be deadlier than swords.”

“Exactly! I tried asking Gaius, but he was of little help. He studied magic when he was young, but I don’t know if he’ll ever be comfortable talking about it thanks to my father. I read what books I could find…”

“ _You_ read a book?”

“Hard to believe, I know, but true.”

“And what did you learn?”

“That I am more ignorant on the topic than I realized. I would need years of study just to know the right questions to ask. I wish I knew a sorcerer that I could talk to about these things, one I could trust. But I think my father ruined the chances of that ever happening.”

“I don’t know,” Merlin said. “There might be one or two out there willing to help a rehabilitated prat for a good cause.”

“Rehabilitated prat?”

“I’ve been watching your progress these past few weeks. I’m sure you’ll always have prattish tendencies, but you’re learning to keep them in check.”

The light from the sun had faded but Arthur could see the laughter in Merlin’s eyes from the bright moonbeam spilling in.

“It’s late. I’ve kept you too long.”

“Not at all. But we probably should leave the glasshouse. Don’t worry. There are fireflies to show the way.”

As if on cue, tiny yellow lights began to flash around them.

“How did you get those in here?”

“The same way I did with the butterflies.”

Merlin turned Arthur in the right direction, tugging on his sleeve to lead him toward the door.

“You meet people from all walks of life in your shop. Do you know any sorcerers in Camelot that I could talk to?”

“I…”

“Please, Merlin. I promise no harm will come to him. Or her,” Arthur added, remembering Morgana.

“It’s not as simple as that, Arthur. When someone has been forced to hide who they are for years, maybe for most of their life, it’s difficult to risk exposing themself like that.”

“Even when it’s the king asking?”

“Especially then. Even if the king is kind and charming, it’s still terrifying to reveal your secret.”

Caught up in the discussion of magic, Arthur had almost forgotten Merlin’s earlier words. It made sense that Merlin would understand the fear a sorcerer would feel – after all, Merlin had his own secret. Something that had caused him to leave Ealdor and eventually go to sea, something that apparently made it difficult to get close to others.

“That’s understandable,” Arthur conceded, hoping he didn’t sound as disappointed as he felt. Not only was he no closer to solving the magic dilemma, but it was likely Merlin would continue to keep him at arm’s length because of his own secret.

They reached the door to the glasshouse, the return trip feeling far shorter than when Arthur went looking for Merlin earlier that evening.

“Look,” Merlin said as they stepped out into the lot behind his shop, “here’s what I can offer. I’ll talk to a sorcerer that I know, one that can be trusted. I can pass along their advice to Gaius and he can share it with you.”

“But…”

“It’s the best I can do.”

“Alright. I’ll stop being pushy. Please let them know they have my deepest gratitude. As do you.”

Arthur could hear raucous singing from the Rising Sun.

“Do you ever get tired of living next door to that?”

“It’s not so bad once I’m inside. I also get a fair amount of morning business from nighttime revelers trying to sober up quickly at dawn. Although some are too far gone even for coffee.”

He followed Merlin into the Lazy Daisy.

“Out of curiosity, how did you get over my fence? I thought for sure it was tall enough to keep the riffraff out.”

“I’m the king, Merlin. I go where I please. Which was through the rear exit of the Rising Sun, where I might have piled up some crates so I could jump your fence.”

“I’ll have to do something about that.”

“So you can keep me out?”

There was more to the question than a matter of fences and Merlin seemed to pick up on it.

“You did nothing to give offense last night.”

“Then what happened?”

“It’s like I said – there are things about me you don’t know. Complicated things.”

“You could tell me.”

“Maybe one day.”

“One day soon?”

“You’re impossible.”

“That’s what Gwen says.”

“And she’s right. For now, I won’t have a lot of time for socializing. Apart from the shop, something came up today that’s going to make life a lot busier for the foreseeable future.”

Arthur knew he shouldn’t push the matter. After all, Merlin was busy on a regular day and Arthur had made things more difficult by asking him to contact the sorcerer.

“Alright. Will you be closing your shop when you leave?”

“Leave?”

“To go visiting. Last night you said that next week you planned to visit someone…”

“Oh. That. No, if it works out, it will be afterhours and they’ll come to Camelot. You’ll still get your coffee.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Arthur hesitated as he searched for the right words. “Just… Don’t waste your time waiting on someone who doesn’t appreciate you. If he doesn’t even recognize you… I can’t speak for anyone else, but there’s no way I could ever forget you.”

Merlin’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Tell you what,” Merlin said, “in a few weeks, when your Midsummer festival is over and life has calmed down for both of us, if you still want to talk…”

“I will,” Arthur said with no hesitation.

Merlin laughed. “You sound so sure.”

“About you? Always.”

Even over the pounding of his heart, Arthur heard Merlin swallow hard.

“You might hate me, you know, once you learn my secret.”

“Never.”

“We’ll see,” Merlin said with a sad laugh. “Now go home. We both need to rest because we both have a lot of work to do.”


	10. Chapter 10

True to his word, Merlin found a sorcerer willing to help Arthur out of his predicament.

Gaius arrived at the king’s door the following morning bearing a tray laden with breakfast and some of the information Arthur needed.

“That was fast,” Arthur said, taking the tray and setting it on the table. “I thought he would need at least two or three days.”

“Merlin knows how important this is and that you’re working with a tight deadline,” Gaius explained.

“He must have gone to his sorcerer friend as soon as I left.”

“Something like that.” Gaius lifted the lid from the tray to reveal a spread that could only have come from the Lazy Daisy. “He dropped off coffee and pastries when he brought me the information. Better drink it before it cools.”

Arthur reached for a mug, pausing to savor the aroma, before taking a sip. The smell reminded him of Merlin. A flood of warmth filled him even before he tasted the coffee.

“Now get a parchment and quill. I have much to tell you and you may want to write things down.”

The next four hours taught Arthur more about magic than he’d previously learned in his entire life.

“There’s no way I’ll ever be able to remember all of this, let alone regulate it,” Arthur said, glancing at his hastily scrawled notes.

His father had always thrown around the terms magic and sorcery, stressed how evil they were, then moved on. Arthur supposed that shouldn’t be too surprising; Uther had never been one to bother with nuance. Still, even the books in the castle library had failed to address the complexity of magic and the many ways one could master it.

Some practitioners chose to channel magic from nature and the elements, while others called on deities to imbue them with power. Arthur’s own encounters with sorcerers had left him most familiar with the concept of spells, but even those were more complicated than he’d realized. Some could simply be cast verbally by a witch or warlock, but others required talismans or reagents.

Technique varied as well. Sorcerers could blast their enemies with bolts of arcane energy, but they could also enchant mundane items with varying effects. A sword could be enchanted to turn on the one wielding it, but that same caster could just as easily use their talents to make farming tools unbreakable or a roof incapable of leaking.

Arthur knew spells could be used to heal living things, but he had never been told that they could also restore land that had been damaged from overuse or contamination.

“Could magic restore the Perilous Lands?” he asked Gaius.

Arthur had once attempted a quest there but had been thwarted by an eccentric bridge keeper who refused to let him cross into the hostile landscape, telling Arthur that he’d never survive without magic and strength to complement his courage. Uther had been livid, but most of his rant had focused on sorcery rather than Arthur’s failings as a son.

“In theory, yes, but it would require someone with immense power. I’ve heard of only one person who might be capable enough.”

Alchemy was an entirely different field, one that Gaius had considerable experience with, leading him to get off topic about his favorite recipes, as well as some of his own advancements in healing potions over the years.

“With the right ingredients, the person brewing the potion doesn’t necessarily have to possess magic,” Gaius explained, perhaps sensing that he’d almost outed himself, “but an incantation will make the final product stronger.”

Arthur had long suspected that Gaius hadn’t entirely abandoned magic when it came to practicing medicine. Even if he wasn’t trying to reverse Uther’s policies, there was no way he could begrudge Gaius for flouting the law, especially after all the times he’d patched up Arthur’s injuries.

The more Gaius told him, the more Arthur became painfully aware that the ethical questions tied to magic were far larger than he’d initially thought. Some healing spells could be corrupted, enabling a powerful sorcerer to extend their own longevity by draining the lifeforce of another.

“We’ll definitely include that one in the list of banned spells,” Arthur said after learning about a murderous warlock who lived for three centuries by using it.

“Before you forbid it entirely, you should know that a skilled healer can reverse it and transfer some of their remaining time to extend the life of their patient. Typically, the ones who choose to do so are older family members caring for their descendants.”

There had been numerous occasions over the years where Arthur had put himself in danger to keep safe those he was responsible for. If he felt the strong pull to take care of unknown villagers, he could only imagine how powerful the impulse must be when the one needing protection was a close relative.

“I’ll think on that one,” Arthur said.

They kept going through the list, Arthur again finding himself in an ethical conundrum when they reached the spells pertaining to memory suppression.

“Definitely banned – it’s abhorrent to take away someone’s memories.”

“On the whole, I agree, sire. But there are times when it can be a mercy. Sometimes grief can be so overpowering that…”

“You’d edit out someone’s memories of their loved one?”

“If it was the only way to save them or prevent irreparable harm. Sometimes I wish…”

“Go ahead.” Arthur gave Gaius’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “Speak freely. We can’t build a better Camelot on a foundation of secrets and distrust.”

“Not to be disrespectful, sire, but a lot of tragedy and suffering could have been averted if your father had forgotten your mother. Or at least the role magic played in her death.”

As he slowly coaxed the full story from Gaius, Arthur jotted down another set of spells for the prohibited list.

“Family is more than bloodlines,” Arthur told Gaius. “I respect the pain of those who cannot conceive but no one else should be sacrificed as my mother was. Especially when there are children who have lost their parents and need loving homes.”

Seers’ gifts could be used to prevent tragedy or create it, depending on what one did with the information gained in a vision. And there were other, more mundane considerations.

“Could a seer throw a tournament?”

“In theory, yes.”

Arthur’s head began to hurt.

“Our anonymous sorcerer passed along details regarding spells considered taboo in Druidic custom. Maybe we should use that as a starting point for Camelot’s regulations,” Gaius suggested.

“Our anonymous sorcerer deserves a seat on the council,” Arthur replied. “And has my eternal gratitude.”

And then there was the issue of training. Most people required years of study and practice to learn basic spells, but others, like Morgana, were born with innate abilities.

“But even with her natural gifts,” Gaius explained, “Morgana could have benefited from formal education. You know how she accidentally set her chambers on fire.”

“How does one go about finding a teacher?”

“Before the Great Purge, priests and priestesses of the Old Religion provided elite instruction. Many of them died or fled to other kingdoms during your father’s reign. Most people learned from a relative. It was less expensive and didn’t require devoting one’s children to the service of a deity.”

“Am I safe in assuming that families still teach their children?”

Overall, Gaius had been forthcoming with the information he’d been given to pass along, but now that the topic shifted from magical theory to its living, breathing practitioners, he became more hesitant.

“It’s alright, Gaius,” Arthur tried to reassure him. “I’m simply wondering if we need to add magic to the curriculum we’re developing. We could build goodwill by hiring Druids as teachers, and I’d sleep easier knowing that students were learning proper technique so as not to endanger themselves or others.”

Arthur had been working with Gwen, Gaius, and Geoffrey to determine how best to set up a system to provide basic education for all the children of Camelot. They had already created a few village schools, though the work was far from complete. Why not use the developmental stage to add in one more topic of instruction?

“That’s an excellent idea, sire. Did Gwen suggest it before I arrived?”

Gaius watched Arthur splutter for a good minute before erupting into laughter. Though he’d often subjected Arthur to good-natured teasing as a child, there was something very familiar about the older man’s demeanor.

“Now I see where Merlin gets it,” Arthur sighed, causing Gaius to laugh harder.

“He can be maddening at times,” Gaius conceded when he finally calmed down. “Although, he only teases those that he likes.”

As his ears burned, Arthur wondered if magic could do anything for those easily prone to blushing.

“Please tell him he has my thanks. I know he’s busy and for him to take the time to reach out to his friend…”

“I think it’s safe to say that it was no bother at all on his part. Now I need to make my rounds, but I should have more information for you tomorrow.”

༻✧༺ ༻✧༺ ༻✧༺

The next week and a half passed in much the same manner. Gaius arrived early with the coffee, scones, and information supplied by Merlin. The answers to the previous day’s questions led to more to be passed along.

Arthur still attended to his regular duties, but spent his evenings hammering out a rough policy framework to have in place for when he made his Midsummer proclamation.

Gwen was too busy to sit in with Gaius and Arthur each morning, but Arthur tried to fill her in each afternoon, incorporating her suggestions with those from Gaius and Merlin’s sorcerer as he revised his drafts of the new legislation.

“It must be hard,” Gwen said on the fifth afternoon.

“It really is. This sounded like such a good idea at first, but now I just don’t know. Everything is more complicated than I thought it would be. To really make this work, I’m going to need a sorcerer on the council who can serve as a judge in cases relating to magic. Iseldir probably wouldn’t take the job – he’s already got enough to keep up with and I doubt he’ll want to live in the city - but maybe he could recommend someone. Or there’s Merlin’s sorcerer. He might…”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh, you mean the instructor certifications. I think I’ve almost convinced Gaius to serve as an examiner until we can find a permanent replacement. He’s still cautious when discussing his past with magic, but I’m pretty sure that once the laws are officially…”

“That’s not it either.”

“The seating chart for Midsummer?”

“Nope.”

“Then what?”

“Merlin! You haven’t seen him in over a week.”

Gwen wasn’t wrong. Though Arthur’s days had largely been filled with navigating the intricacies of policy changes, at night his mind turned to Merlin. He tried his best to dwell on all things platonic. Merlin gave every indication that he was holding a torch for the foolish bastard from his past. Romance wasn’t everything and Arthur hoped that regardless of what else happened, Merlin would continue to see him as a friend.

It was true that he occasionally allowed himself to replay the almost-kiss they’d shared the night Merlin dined in Arthur’s chambers. And he did sometimes recall the way Merlin looked as he knelt on the floor to help Arthur out of his boots. Or how deftly Merlin’s fingers moved as he undid Arthur’s belt when he’d helped him into bed. But that was where it stopped. He’d made a vow that he wouldn’t touch himself while thinking about Merlin, and somehow he’d managed to keep it.

So long as Arthur was awake, he could keep his thoughts chaste. What happened when he fell asleep was an entirely different matter.

To be sure, there had been dreams similar to those he’d had the day he slept in Merlin’s bed – full of adventures from his early adulthood, his memories amended to include Merlin at his side as they faced down dangers ranging from run-of-the-mill bandits to a questing beast.

Other dreams, though, involved Merlin in scenarios drawn more from fantasy than memory. Merlin’s fingers tracing along Arthur’s chest. Arthur finally able to taste Merlin’s lips. The press of their bodies, freed from clothing, grinding into one another. Merlin on his knees, his perfect lips swallowing Arthur down.

On more than one occasion he awoke to find that his climax hadn’t been confined to his dreams. That hadn’t happened since adolescence and had resulted in Arthur attempting to wash his own sheets, much to the amusement of the castle laundresses.

“It’s probably for the best.” Arthur forced himself to stop thinking about his dreams and focus on Gwen. “I don’t think I’d be able to concentrate on the work if he were around.”

Gwen’s beaming face told Arthur that he’d let far too much slip.

“I knew you were thinking about him at yesterday’s council meeting. Your face went soft and you got this faraway look in your eyes. If you hurry up with courting him, you can have a double wedding with Leon and me.”

She immediately looked away and began shuffling the parchments spread out on the table in front of them.

“Gwen.”

“Hmm?”

“Is there something you need to tell me?”

“I think you’re right in choosing Gaius to evaluate the first cohort of magic teachers. We can pick a replacement after the end of the first term when we see which ones are most skilled and…”

“Guinevere.”

She kept her eyes on the parchments.

“This morning. There might have been a question. The answer might have been yes.”

“He proposed?”

“Actually,” she glanced at him, cheeks deep crimson, “that might have been me.”

Of course Gwen would have been the one to propose. Leon might be one of Camelot’s bravest knights, but, much like Arthur, he’d always been on the shyer side when it came to matters of the heart. Their relationship might never have taken off had Gwen not made the first move.

Well, that and if Arthur hadn’t made another major change to the Camelot legal code.

Gwen and Leon had known each other for years, her mother having been employed as a maid by Leon’s parents when they were both children. After Arthur’s ill-conceived attempt at wooing her, Gwen began spending more time with Leon and an obvious attraction blossomed between them.

Their unmistakable pining influenced Arthur’s first independent act as regent, reversing his father’s restrictions on marriage. Nobles and non-nobles were no longer to be kept apart and, since he was already making changes to the laws, neither were those of the same gender. Uther had been livid when he heard, raging from his sickbed that Arthur was completely unfit to lead.

The words stung, but it was all worth it a week later when he’d seen Gwen and Leon holding hands.

“Policy can wait,” Arthur said, pulling the parchments out of Gwen’s reach. “I want to hear all about it.”

༻✧༺ ༻✧༺ ༻✧༺

It was well past dusk when Arthur finally made it back to his chambers.

For the rest of the afternoon, he listened to Gwen describe her proposal in intricate detail. While a nighttime excursion to catch frogs might not have been the stuff of the romances the tavern bards sang about, it was a perfect setting for Gwen and Leon, as that was how they became friends in childhood.

Gwen was so excited that Arthur would gladly have listened through the rest of the night and into the next day, but she eventually took her leave to join Leon for dinner.

That left Arthur with limited time to read through the petitions scheduled for the next morning. A few topics on the agenda left him visiting the library to read up on the finer points of village law. He wasn’t fully convinced that he’d done enough research when George tracked him down to remind him that food could only be kept warm for so long.

“Perhaps you should try chewing it, sire,” George chided as Arthur inhaled the meal set out in his chambers.

“Just trying to be polite,” Arthur said between bites. “I’ve kept you long enough.”

Food consumed and George gone for the evening, Arthur turned his attention to the final tasks of the day.

Formal invitations had never really been part of the Midsummer festival since Arthur took the throne. Notices were posted throughout the city and outlying villages to build excitement, but the event was open to all. Arthur only bothered sending personal requests to attend when diplomacy necessitated it. And yet this year, besides Iseldir, there were two more people he wanted to invite.

He began with Merlin, scrawling out a few hasty lines to thank him for his help finding the sorcerer. Arthur made it clear that he would love to have them both in attendance if the sorcerer felt comfortable and if Merlin could manage to get away from his work.

Arthur wanted to say more but his nerves got the better of him. Three times he tried to write out how much he missed Merlin and three times he scratched through his words, the quill almost tearing a hole in the parchment. If the hour hadn’t been so late, he would have called for someone to bring him a replacement, but that, Arthur decided, would be something that only a prat would do.

As he finished up, his quill hesitated over the parchment, then he added a quick line assuring Merlin that his old acquaintance, the man Arthur was trying not to loathe, was welcome to attend.

The festival was open to all and that person was important to Merlin. Besides, if he was still being a jerk, Arthur would find a way to discreetly tell him what a fool he was for failing to recognize how lucky he was to have Merlin’s heart.

He moved on to the final invitation. A futile effort perhaps, but if Morgana ever did return to Camelot, he would want her to know she’d been on his mind when he lifted the ban.

> I wish you could be here, Morgana, as your true self, no longer having to hide.
> 
> I can’t imagine how scared you must have been when you realized what was happening to you. I’m sorry I was so caught up in trying to earn Uther’s approval that you didn’t feel safe confiding in me. I failed you when you needed me most and I’ll never be able to make up for that.
> 
> I hope that word spreads to you wherever you are that the ban is gone and that maybe one day you feel comfortable enough to come home. You’ve likely built a good life out there, but you’re always welcome in Camelot. I won’t lie. I could use your counsel on magical matters.
> 
> You know the kingdom is without a queen and if you ever read the other letters I’ve written, then you’re well aware of the reason why. But that needs to change. Not by betraying my heart and trapping some poor woman in a marriage of convenience, mind you. What I’m trying to say is, there’s an empty throne in Camelot that could be yours.
> 
> If you were here, I know you’d say that Gwen should be Camelot’s queen. I’ve asked countless times and she always refuses. She doesn’t want to give up the privacy afforded by her role as domestic advisor. I want to create a new position to better recognize her contributions to Camelot – I don’t know what to call it – maybe first minister. I envision her having about the same level of authority as I do, but with fewer ceremonial obligations.
> 
> If you were to agree to be queen, I wouldn’t abdicate. It would be cruel to throw this mess on you and then leave. It’s really too much for one person anyway. I want an inclusive kingdom where magic users feel welcome but I’m woefully ignorant. You, though, would be brilliant at it.
> 
> I also wish you were here to give your counsel as a sister. I need advice on what to do about Merlin. My feelings for him have only grown stronger since my last letter. He’s incredibly kind and is always looking out for others, including me, even when I’m a prat. I will forever owe him a debt of gratitude for his help with the repeal.
> 
> He’s also very nice to look at. And by that, I mean I’ve never met anyone as gorgeous, or that I’ve wanted to kiss so badly. As a brotherly courtesy, I’ll spare you further details of what I’d like to do with him.
> 
> There are times when I think he feels the same, then others where I don’t know. He says his heart belongs to someone from his past who doesn’t return his affection. I’m doing my best to respect his feelings, but there are days when I want to lay bare my heart.
> 
> He also claims to have a secret, something he refuses to share. He says it’s complicated and that it might change my view of him. But he doesn’t know how much I’ve grown to love him. Besides, it’s Merlin; it can’t be anything bad. He could be the greatest sorcerer to ever live and I would only love him more.

Arthur stopped there. He’d run out of parchment and was far too tired to keep writing. He set aside the invitations and retired to his bed.

༻✧༺ ༻✧༺ ༻✧༺

The next day passed in a blur.

It began with a slew of tedious complaints regarding loose cows, late-night village choir practice, and the seating arrangements at an upcoming wedding.

Why the king’s judgment was needed to know where two ornery uncles should sit remained a mystery to Arthur, but he seemed to impress the assembled crowd with his decree that they should be placed beside each other to spare the rest of the guests the agony of having to deal with them.

Then there was the matter of finalizing plans for Midsummer.

“How would you like to be minister of hospitality?” Arthur asked after George finished briefing him on the festivities. They were sitting at the desk in his chambers, Arthur craving a moment of privacy after having spent so much of the day in front of a crowd.

“Very funny, sire.”

“I mean it. You’ve planned all of the most successful festivals and feast days since I became king. Why not trade making my bed for planning all official functions?”

George didn’t immediately reply and instead ran a finger over the brass candelabra, smoothing out a smudge, his brow creased in thought.

“I would ask who would look after you without me,” George finally said, “but I imagine you’ll soon have someone else tending to your bed.”

Arthur knew he was blushing, but there was nothing to be done for it.

“Speaking of Merlin,” George continued, “I sent your invitation with a courier this morning.”

“Thank you. By any chance do you know what happened to the other parchment I left out?”

“The other parchment, sire?”

“Yes,” Arthur said, glancing around the desk but not finding what he was looking for. “There was Merlin’s invitation, but there was a second parchment underneath it that was… not his invitation.”

George cleaned Arthur’s chambers. He likely already knew about the unsent letters to Morgana, but that didn’t mean that they were something Arthur wanted to talk about.

“I, um, didn’t realize, sire. I saw the top sheet addressed to Merlin and considering your fondness for him, assumed the two went together. I would never read your private letters, so I sent them both along.”

Arthur took a deep breath and tried to stay calm.

He’d told no one, not even Gwen, his idea of co-ruling with Morgana. There hadn’t seemed to be any point as Morgana hadn’t been heard from in years. Merlin could keep a secret and he had been willing to help Arthur make contact with a sorcerer. There was no reason to worry.

Except that there were parts of that letter that pertained to Merlin, parts Arthur wasn’t sure he would ever be ready to confess, especially if things went well between Merlin and his visitor.

“I’m sorry. I can send a courier to retrieve the second parchment or I can go or…”

“It’s alright,” Arthur said. “There’s no need.

It was true. The invitation had arrived hours earlier. There was no way Merlin hadn’t read his words.

Besides, sending someone to ask for the parchment back would only make the situation more uncomfortable. Overall, Arthur trusted the castle couriers not to read his correspondence, but a mis-sent, opened letter, retrieved at night, might prove far too tempting, even for George.

And there was no way Arthur was going to personally ask for it back. He’d need days, maybe weeks, to prepare for that level of awkwardness.

Besides, Arthur had more than enough to worry about with Midsummer. Only one day remained to finish last minute preparations and he needed to be well rested for it.

No, the very best thing to do was to simply soldier on and wait to see how Merlin reacted, starting with whether or not he chose to attend the festival and who he brought with him if he did.


	11. Chapter 11

Back when Arthur had been Camelot’s prince rather than its king, he had always hated official functions.

Such events forced him to wear uncomfortable clothes, then endure hours of ridiculous ceremony and dull speeches. Even when the feasting and merrymaking finally began, Arthur could never fully relax and enjoy himself, as Uther’s constant gaze silently reminded him that the Pendragon reputation was at stake.

Pendragons were meant to be tough and stern. They must never dance around the bonfire at Midsummer or join in the impromptu sing-alongs that grew louder the longer the ale flowed.

Now, years later with Uther long-since dispatched to the spirit realm, Arthur still found himself far more reserved than the sea of revelers at the festival. He had a lot on his mind that was causing his anxiety to rise. Obviously, there was the matter of the repeal that he would soon announce. Even more troubling was Merlin’s absence from the festivities. If he was willing to miss out on this party, then it likely meant Arthur’s letter to Morgana had caused irreparable harm.

Even without Arthur’s imminent proclamation, this Midsummer festival would go down in the annals as one of the most memorable; George had made certain of that. Though city streets had been decked out in garlands and streamers, the large crowds coming in from Iseldir’s camp as well as the countryside necessitated moving the entire party outside the citadel to the large meadows surrounding the castle walls.

“Camelot is on good terms with all of its neighbors, the job training and placement program has almost eliminated the forest bandits, and we still have guards on duty,” George said, cutting off Leon before he could express concerns about security. “Also, I’ll need to make use of a battalion of knights. There are too many dining tables to move for the serving staff to do it alone.”

In the end, even Arthur had to lend a hand as legions of staff, knights, councilors, and anyone else who could be found worked to transform the meadow into an outdoor ballroom. Druids had arrived early with their own decorations to blend in with those selected by George, giving a symbolic nod to Arthur’s vision for a more inclusive Camelot.

Right as the festivities were about to begin, Arthur was caught off guard by the surprise arrival of Princess Elena, who’d ridden in with a single escort rather than a standard entourage.

“My lady, what a pleasant surprise,” Arthur lied. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Elena – he simply had enough to deal with already without adding diplomatic pageantry to the list. “If we’d known you were coming…”

“You’d probably have set up a formal reception and I would have had to dress up in stuffy clothes and uncomfortable shoes. I came for the feasting and dancing, and to see old friends.”

Who she considered an old friend, Arthur couldn’t say, though it must not have been him. She took her leave as soon as propriety allowed, vanishing into the mass of people filling the clearing.

Soon food was served, bonfires were lit, and merrymaking was well underway. The Druids brought a supply of flower crowns for everyone, and Gwen and George teamed up to force a garland on Arthur.

There was, he supposed, no reason to feel ridiculous if everyone was wearing one.

Besides, maybe a wreath of flowers would help him win over the crowd that night. Arthur was saving his decree about the magic ban until later, secretly hoping that those in attendance might sing, dance, and dine away the excess energy that could otherwise fuel a coup if his policy change wasn’t well received.

“Dance with me,” Gwen said, running up on Arthur where he sat at the head table observing the feast. She was out of breath and her cheeks were glowing.

“But Leon…”

“Is dancing with my brother.”

Sure enough, Arthur’s two most trusted knights, adorned in their own garlands, were moving together in a way that fit only the loosest definition of dancing.

“What happened to Agatha?”

Though Elyan had served as one of Camelot’s most loyal knights, Arthur knew he’d had trouble with commitment. On more than one occasion, Arthur had consoled Gwen when her brother ran off, feeling too trapped by domestic life. Elyan had largely settled down after becoming a knight and things had appeared to be working out well with Agatha from the kitchens, but perhaps the urge to run had set in again.

“She was feeling unwell. Elyan was going to stay with her but she insisted he come. I think she was getting tired of his doting. Now come dance with me.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. People will talk and…”

Gwen ignored him, instead dragging Arthur from his chair and out into the throng of dancers.

“Now,” Gwen said, pulling him close so she could talk to him above the noise, “where’s Merlin?”

“I don’t know. Probably packing his things to run off to sea again while no one’s watching.”

“You did invite him?”

“Yes. Along with everyone else living in Camelot’s borders.”

She shook her head in frustration, which caused her flower crown to slip. Arthur righted it and fought back a laugh.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Arthur sighed and bent his head so he wouldn’t have to shout.

“There was a mix up with a courier – not only did he get my invitation but also an embarrassing parchment laying out my feelings for him. Since he didn’t show, I’m guessing he’s heading for the nearest harbor to sail away from Camelot’s lovesick king. If I even am king after tonight.”

“Don’t tell me you’re still worried about tonight’s announcement. Look at how well the Druids have been received.”

She had a point. Iseldir had brought a large party with him; his people and Arthur’s were freely laughing and dancing with one another. It was no secret that the Druids still followed the Old Religion, yet none of the Camelot denizens at the party appeared to be bothered by this.

“Do you think the helpful sorcerer is here?” Arthur asked. “I mean, I understand why Merlin wouldn’t come but…”

“Maybe,” Gwen said, pulling him into a hug, “I know you wish Merlin was here. I don’t know what kept him, but you needn’t worry. He’s just as taken with you as you are with him.”

“But…”

“But nothing. Trust me on this one.”

Arthur knew better than to argue with Gwen, even if his doubts and insecurities were supplying him with plenty of evidence to the contrary. Besides, this was meant to be a party.

“Thanks, Gwen,” he said, steering them toward Leon. “Now go rescue your fiancé from your brother. I think he’s had more of Elyan’s dance moves than anyone should be forced to endure.”

He left Gwen, then made his way through the throng of revelers, shaking hands, receiving well wishes, and turning down numerous offers to dance. It occurred to Arthur that his father had likely never experienced such genuine affection from the masses. Arthur might have rejected Uther’s vision of strength and power, but he had done right by the people of Camelot. Hopefully his announcement wouldn’t undo all of his hard work to rebuild the public trust that Uther had destroyed.

As dusk fell and night descended, there was still no sign of Merlin. Arthur tried to shove aside his feelings of disappointment. There would be time to tend to his broken heart later. For now he had work to do.

It was tradition for the king to make a pronouncement at feasts and festivals. Arthur knew that the audience often used the pause in merriment to refill their cups and catch their breath – he’d never really considered the degree to which they focused on his words.

Only after he’d made it through the customary messages welcoming everyone, thanking them for attending, and expressing his hope that they were having a good time, did Arthur realize just how quiet the field had become.

Maybe the crowd knew this night was somehow different, or maybe it was Arthur’s nerves catching up with him. Either way, he couldn’t ever remember having this level of undivided attention when he rose to make a festival proclamation.

“Normally this would be the part of the speech where I wish you health and happiness and encourage you to resume your revelry,” Arthur said, steeling himself for what was to come. He felt a deep chill despite the warmth of the summer evening.

“Tonight, however, I must ask you to indulge me a little longer. As you know, I invited our Druid friends to celebrate with us. When my father ruled Camelot, such a thing would never have happened. Not because of any animosity on the part of the Druids, or the people of Camelot, but instead because of policies that my father put into place. I’m sure there’s no one here who isn’t familiar with Uther Pendragon’s stance on magic. And while I do not wish to ruin the night by dredging up old wounds, I have to acknowledge that his stance caused irreparable harm and suffering.”

The field had grown completely silent. Not even the nighttime insects made a sound.

“I cannot undo the damage of the past,” Arthur continued, his voice steadier than he felt, “but I can ensure that all of Camelot’s people have a more equitable and just future moving forward. That is why tonight I am announcing a repeal of the ban on magic.”

There were a few audible gasps, followed by whispers, the chorus of voices growing louder as people recovered from the shock of Arthur’s words.

“Shut up!” a voice bellowed. “Let the man finish.”

“Thank you, Princess Elena,” Arthur said when the crowd again grew quiet. “With extensive help from someone knowledgeable, I’ve drawn up a new code on sorcery outlining what practices remain forbidden. Iseldir, I am open to discussing any changes you believe are warranted, but I think you’ll find considerable overlap between my regulations and practices considered taboo within Druid society.”

Iseldir said nothing but nodded. Arthur got the distinct impression he was having his own battle to stay composed.

“Starting tonight,” Arthur continued, “those with magic no longer need to hide. My father left a legacy of distrust between those with magic and those without. I know that healing will take time. But old prejudices must die. Camelot now embraces and celebrates all of its people.”

The heavy silence again descended. Maybe the people were waiting for Arthur to say more. Maybe they were taking a moment to process his words. Maybe they thought he was having them on. Or maybe they were contemplating regicide. Regardless, the lack of a response was proving to be quite unsettling.

“Thank the Triple Goddess for that!” a familiar voice called out. “I am never polishing brass by hand again.”

Was that George? Arthur couldn’t say for sure as any additional commentary had been cut off by the deafening roar that erupted from the crowd. There were cheers, applause, and shouts of joy. A few of the more inebriated partygoers began composing an impromptu ballad in Arthur’s honor.

For the first time since dawn, Arthur relaxed. Things were going far better than he had anticipated, almost perfect if the truth was told. Only Merlin’s presence would have made the night better, but Arthur would take what he could get.

He was about to retake his seat and enjoy the party when it happened, the joyous cries replaced with screams of terror. The sea of people parted as Gaheris rushed through, sword drawn.

“You’ll not do this!” Gaheris bellowed as he charged toward Arthur. “You’ve already wrecked so much of what your father built. I won’t let you destroy Uther Pendragon’s Camelot.”

In a fair fight, Arthur could easily best Gaheris, but, in an effort to promote peace, Arthur had deliberately chosen not to wear armor or a sword. The contingent of armed guards had been kept to a minimum and none were close by. He might survive the night if they moved fast enough, but there was no way he’d escape unharmed.

Barreling closer, sword brandished over his head, Gaheris sprung off his backfoot, vaulting onto the table in front of Arthur. There was no time to flee. On instinct, Arthur lifted an arm to shield himself as best he could from the inevitable blow.

There was a loud crash, followed by a shriek of pain. The crowd collectively gasped, then fell silent.

“You’ll not hurt him,” Merlin said. He had appeared at Arthur’s side, eyes glowing and hand outstretched.

Gaheris lay sprawled on his back, twenty feet in the distance. He tried to raise his body, let out a low groan, the collapsed back on the ground. Despite his obvious pain, his fingers inched toward his sword.

“You are a stubborn one,” Merlin muttered. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the blade skittering across the grass. “I should have dealt with you weeks ago when you first gave me trouble.”

Merlin’s eyes remained fixed on Gaheris until Leon and Elyan arrived to collect him, assisted by two Druids that had been flanking Iseldir throughout the day. As they carried him off, Gaius trailing behind, the crowd again erupted in cheers. Then at Gwen’s behest, the musicians started up and dancing resumed, giving Arthur a much-needed break from being the center of attention. Though his mind was still reeling, Arthur managed to pull out the chair beside his, gesturing for Merlin to take it.

They sat in silence, watching the mass of dancers. Arthur knew he needed to say something - for starters, Merlin needed to be thanked for saving his life – yet he couldn’t seem to form the words.

“I told you I had a complicated secret,” Merlin finally said.

“Merlin, that was…” Arthur paused, his head a jumble of thoughts, each competing for control of his mouth.

“Hot,” he heard himself say. For a split second, Arthur wondered if perhaps Gaheris could be brought back to finish what he’d started.

“Oh.” Merlin’s faced turned deep crimson.

He reached out as if to take Arthur’s hand where it rested on the table, then thought better of it.

“There’s more,” Merlin said, his voice quiet. “I hope you’ll forgive me. I couldn’t tell you until now because… Anyway, I understand if you hate me.”

“Merlin, I could never hate you. I swear. Now what is it?”

“It might be easier if I show you.”

༻✧༺ ༻✧༺ ༻✧༺

Gwen caught Arthur’s eye when he rose from the table to follow Merlin. She beamed at him, then did her best to keep the crowd focused on the annual bonfire jump so they could slip away unseen.

Merlin led him away from the festivities and toward the forest’s edge.

“You once asked me why I chose Camelot instead of Essetir,” Merlin said as they walked. “It’s true that I wanted to see Gaius and I thought my shop would have better prospects here, but there are other reasons.”

“The man you love?”

As much as Arthur didn’t want to let go of his foolish hope, he knew it was best for Merlin to go ahead and brush him off so they could move forward.

“He is a major factor. I’m happy to report that things are looking up in that department.”

“I’m glad,” Arthur said. It wasn’t entirely untrue. As much as the news stung, he did genuinely want Merlin to be happy.

“There’s another reason as well. Someone asked me to go to Camelot, to gather information, to see what life was like under your rule.”

Arthur’s stomach dropped.

“Are you a spy?”

“Of a sort.”

So that was why Merlin had been so nice to him. All those times when he thought there might have been something developing between them, Merlin had simply been using him to get information.

Searching for an outlet for his frustration, Arthur reached for the flower crown still sitting atop his head.

“Leave it,” Merlin said. “It’s sweet.”

Under no circumstances should he listen to Merlin. And yet he found himself lowering his hand to his side, the garland untouched. Common sense said Arthur should stop following Merlin, try to run back to the safety of the crowd. But when had he ever had common sense when it came to Merlin? Anyway, considering what had happened to Gaheris, it wasn’t as though Arthur could just slip away.

“Who are you working for?” His stern tone came out far more dejected than he’d hoped.

“You’ll see. We’re almost back to where I left them.”

In spite of the hidden magic, the lies, and the spying, Arthur didn’t believe he was in any real danger. At least not until he felt the press of cold steel against his throat.

“Watch it!” Merlin snapped. The blade at Arthur’s neck instantly disappeared, replaced by something soft with a floral scent.

“What did you do with my sword?” a man’s voice asked.

“You can have it back when you’ve proven you’re not a danger to others. Why are you sitting in the dark?”

“I put out the fire when I heard voices,” the man replied. “Wasn’t sure if it was you.”

Merlin muttered a word Arthur couldn’t make out, then a campfire roared to life.

“Arthur, this is Gwaine,” Merlin said gesturing to a man holding a bouquet of flowers at his throat. “Gwaine, this is Arthur.”

The name was familiar – Arthur tried to place it.

“Gwaine from the _Excalibur_?”

“So you’ve heard of me?”

“Merlin might have mentioned you,” Arthur said, unsure of what to make of his current situation.

He had no idea why Merlin’s former crewmate was waiting for them in the woods. Maybe Merlin intended to hand him over to whoever he was spying for, then run off to sea again with Gwaine. Not that Arthur would blame him if he did. From the stories Merlin had told, Gwaine was far more interesting than Arthur could ever hope to be and his hair was fabulous.

“Here,” Gwaine said, handing the bouquet to Merlin. “I think your princess is starting to worry that you might have meant these for me.”

“Princess?” Arthur asked incredulously.

Gwaine smirked, but his eyes were warm.

“You two wait here. I’ll go get the queen.”

Gwaine disappeared into the trees, leaving them standing by the fire.

“I can’t give you these,” Merlin said quietly. “Gwaine will need his sword back. But later…”

They were cut off by the sound of leaves crunching and twigs snapping.

“Come on,” Gwaine was saying. “He won’t bite.”

“I don’t know…”

Arthur recognized the voice before he saw her face.

“Morgana?”

She nodded but said nothing, her hand covering her mouth as she blinked back tears. Gone was her ornate jewelry. She wore no makeup and her fine silk gowns had been replaced by the breeches and tunic of a sailor, a red sash tied around her waist.

“I like your new look,” Arthur said. “It suits you.”

That wasn’t a lie. When they were teenagers, Morgana often complained to him about the impractical dresses Uther insisted that she wear. Even with her obvious unease, she still appeared more relaxed than she had ever been at court.

He took one step toward her, then another, taking it slow so as not to alarm her. He opened his arms.

“May I…?”

Morgana didn’t let him finish, instead squeezing him so tight he found it difficult to breathe. After a moment’s hesitation, he hugged her back.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” she said into his chest.

“I’m so sorry,” Arthur said, fighting back his own tears. “When you needed me, I failed you…”

“You did no such thing. You held him back so I could run.”

“I should have stopped him long before that night. All that time, when he was going after sorcerers and then you. I…”

“You did the best you could. And from what I’ve heard, you’ve taken Camelot into a golden age.”

“That’s all Gwen. She tells me what to do and I do it.”

“She always was the wisest among us.”

“The kingdom would have fallen apart ages ago without her.”

“It’s good to see you, Arthur,” Morgana said as she finally let him go. “I missed you.”

“Not as much as I missed you. Camelot isn’t the same without you.”

“See, Morgana? I told you there was nothing to worry about,” Merlin cut in.

“How do you two know each other?” Arthur knew there was a connection but couldn’t piece it together.

They shared a look and Arthur got the distinct impression that an unspoken negotiation was taking place.

“Until her recent retirement, Morgana was the captain of the _Excalibur,_ ” Merlin finally explained. “And before that she was our chief navigator. She used her gifts as a seer to guide us.”

“You went to sea?”

“It was Gaius’s idea. I went because it seemed the safest way to escape Uther’s influence.”

“Do you like sailing?”

“It took some getting used to, but on the whole, yes. Even without the whole having to flee for my life element, it’s been rewarding. There are so many places and things I would never have seen otherwise.”

“Then what brought you back to Camelot?”

“Your invitation,” she said. “Merlin made sure I got it.”

Arthur willed himself to focus on the situation at hand and not what Merlin might now think of him after having read his words to Morgana.

“How did he… oh. Magic.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Morgana said, smiling. “Besides, Merlin and Elena told me about the good you’ve been doing. I wanted to see it for myself.”

“Elena?”

“Remember,” Merlin interrupted, “when I told you about Elena spending time at sea?”

“Does she have magic, too?”

“She cast a spell on Morgana,” Merlin said, dodging Morgana’s half-hearted swat. “But no, she doesn’t have magic in the arcane sense. Not everyone at sea is a rogue sorcerer. Gwaine here is as mundane as they come.”

“Oi! Who had your back when you ran your mouth in that tavern and…”

“But he’s very strong and capable with a sword,” Merlin cut him off. “Skilled enough to even be a knight, I imagine.”

That seemed enough to placate Gwaine, who gave Merlin a friendly slap on the shoulder before turning his attention to gathering up what Arthur assumed was his and Morgana’s gear strewn by the fire.

“So you and Elena…” Arthur began.

Morgana nodded.

“I’m leaving the _Excalibur_ because of her. It’s been a good life there and Elena and I have made things work, even with the distance, but for a few years now I’ve been wanting to come home. It was my idea for Merlin to open a shop in Camelot.”

“So he could spy on me?”

“I had a hunch he’d keep a close eye on you. I was too scared to come back, but I wanted to know if things were really as good as Elena said.”

“And are they?”

“No. They’re better. And when I heard about you lifting the ban and then your offer…”

Arthur let her brush away a tear before pulling her back in his arms.

“Does that mean you’re willing to accept?” he asked when they finally broke off the hug.

“Maybe. I want to talk to Gwen. I know you said she doesn’t want the title, but she deserves it. I also need to talk to Elena. There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask her…”

“Finally!” Gwaine said. “If I had to listen to you wavering back and forth one more time…”

“But if she says no…”

“She won’t,” Gwaine said. “You two are perfect for each other.”

“Of course you’d say that. You always take my side. But…”

“But nothing. Have you seen the way she looks at you? Besides, she spent an entire month curled up in your hammock even when the rough sea made her so sick that…”

“Are they always like this?” Arthur asked Merlin. There was something about their exchange that reminded him of his own conversations with Gwen.

“Pretty much.”

Morgana and Gwaine’s discussion was growing louder, with Morgana throwing in her own points about Gwaine’s hesitation regarding someone named Percival.

“Maybe,” Arthur interrupted, “we should get back to the festival. Gwen and Elena are both there, and besides, if I’m gone much longer, I imagine Leon will have a heart attack.”


	12. Chapter 12

Hours later, Arthur wandered Camelot’s deserted streets, flower crown still atop his head and Merlin by his side. Neither had said anything since leaving the party still roaring in the distance.

Morgana’s appearance at the festival had been met with joyous cheers and shouts as all of Camelot welcomed her home. Gwen had stared in disbelief, then burst into tears, hugging Morgana so tightly that Arthur wondered if someone might need to step in to help her.

Eventually Gwen let her go and the music intensified, as did the dancing, with Gwaine demonstrating some moves that garnered Elyan’s admiration. By all estimates the people were pleased with the night’s events, and while relieved, Arthur was also very exhausted.

When Merlin offered coffee, along with a promise to Leon to keep the king safe, Arthur jumped at the invitation to escape.

“Thank you,” Arthur finally said as they rounded the corner to the Lazy Daisy.

“For what?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Gaheris. Morgana. Helping me write what is by far the best regulatory code for magic in the history of all the five kingdoms.”

“So you figured that out, did you? You’re sharper than I thought.”

Arthur had put that final piece together at the festival when Iseldir had come over to speak with Merlin. The Druid leader had always been respectful with Arthur, but he approached Merlin with reverence.

“What does Emrys mean?” Arthur asked, ignoring the barb.

“Nothing.”

“It didn’t sound like nothing, especially since Iseldir threw in that half-bow at the end.”

He bumped his shoulder against Merlin’s. Caught up in the stress surrounding Midsummer, he’d almost forgotten how easy it was to just be in Merlin’s company.

“Alright,” Merlin said letting out a sigh. “It’s something that’s supposed to be kept secret among those who follow the Old Religion. But since you’re the king and you’ve been so accepting, I’ll let you in on it. Emrys is a sacred title among the Druids. They’ve waited centuries for someone with the power and skill worthy of it.”

“And they believe that’s you?” Arthur asked as they stood at the door of Merlin’s shop.

“They do.”

“And what does this title mean?”

“Prat wrangler.”

I know he loves another, but let me kiss him in the moonlight, Arthur prayed to whatever deities might be listening. Just once and I’ll never ask for anything else.

“I suppose they’re right,” Arthur said as Merlin searched for his keys. “From what I’ve been told, I was once quite the ass, terrorizing local merchants after business hours.”

“I don’t know,” Merlin said, still fumbling, “no one is at their best when they haven’t had their coffee. Damn it. Gwaine has my keys. I guess we’ll have to go back to…”

“Why don’t you use magic?” Arthur asked, desperate to avoid a return to the party.

“Habit, I suppose.”

A golden light filled his eyes, then Arthur heard the lock turn. There was something familiar about the glow.

“The other night,” Arthur began, “when I walked in on you in your glasshouse… you were using magic on your plants.”

Merlin ushered him inside, then muttered what had to be a spell as the candles lit themselves. Arthur failed to contain a gasp.

“Is it a problem?”

“Not at all. It’s just… different.”

That much was true. It would take Arthur time to adjust to the changes, but he had no regrets about his decision.

“You scared me half to death that night. I was almost certain you’d found me out.” Merlin made his way behind the counter. With a flick of his wrist, the cauldron began to boil and he dropped in a sachet of coffee. “Although I have to ask, what did you think I was doing?”

“Singing to them.” The truth slipped out before Arthur could stop it and he needed a diversion. “How long have you known Morgana?”

“Since she left Camelot. The household I was serving in discovered my magic about the same time. Gaius helped us – he’d set up the ship during the Great Purge as a way for sorcerers to escape. _Singing_ to them?”

“What else would I think? You were chanting strange words. I thought it was the language of Axum. Anyway, Essetir doesn’t have a ban so why not go back to Ealdor?”

The aroma of coffee filled the room as Merlin got down two mugs.

“Just because magic is legal doesn’t mean that sorcerers are safe. My mother was trying to keep me out of the hands of unscrupulous people who exploit our gifts for their own gain. Cenred was on the throne when I was young, and a neighbor with a grudge let my secret slip to a patrol looking for sorcerers to conscript into service.”

“But if you have magic, how can they force you to…?”

“Contrary to what your father thought, sorcerers aren’t invincible. People’s families get held hostage, powerful mages exploit those with lesser abilities to grow their own status and wealth. Lot continued the exploitation when he succeeded Cenred. Right now his mines are full of indentured sorcerers.”

“That explains why Essetir has been able to flood the markets with cheap ore.”

“Exactly,” Merlin said, as he filled the mugs. “Lot has no labor costs because he doesn’t pay them. That’s why I included the prohibitions on magical servitude and mind control in the suggestions I sent you.”

Arthur had never liked Lot. The man always put up a good front when he invited other leaders to visit, but traders reported that he ruled with a hand just as heavy as Uther’s had been.

“But enough about Lot. Here,” Merlin shoved a mug at Arthur. “Come with me.”

He followed Merlin out the back door of the shop. The moon was starting to set, though it still illuminated the lot as they made their way toward the glasshouse.

“I can never see it from the street,” Arthur said as Merlin opened the door. “Is that because of your magic?”

“There’s an enchantment to keep it hidden. I also used magic to build it.”

“Convenient.”

“There was no other way I could have done it by myself. I learned spells while I was traveling that helped, including one that makes the interior of a structure larger than the exterior. It was useful for expanding the _Excalibur’s_ hold and I used it here to have room for more trees.”

“I knew something was off! It took me forever to find you that night I scaled your fence.”

“Honestly, I was surprised you made it over. I have wards around the fence to discourage that sort of thing.”

“It wasn’t easy. If I’d known you wanted to keep me out that badly…”

“What I wanted was for no one to discover how I manage to run my shop alone. When I’m by myself, I use magic to care for the plants, brew the coffee, bake the pastries, and clean up.”

“I knew you couldn’t be as efficient as you claimed.”

“It’s all in how you define efficiency.”

Halfway down a row of trees, they were greeted by a host of fireflies.

“They’re beautiful,” Arthur said as Merlin led him to a clearing amongst the coffee plants.

Another flick of Merlin’s wrist and a blanket appeared, laid out on the ground. Arthur stared at him in awe.

“You’re exceptionally powerful.”

“As if you’d know.” Merlin stepped out of his boots and gestured for Arthur to do the same.

“You conjured an object into existence without an incantation or a reagent. That would take most people a lifetime of study to master.” He wiggled his toes in the cool earth of the glasshouse floor.

“We all have our talents. Take you. You’re a greater king now than your father could have ever hoped to be. Though I do have to ask, the other night, why did you think I was singing to my plants in the language of Axum?”

Merlin motioned to the blanket and Arthur lowered himself, crossing his legs as he sat. As Arthur looked up at Merlin, a glowing orb appeared in the air, hovering above to bathe him in blue-white light.

“I’ve seen that before,” Arthur said, ignoring Merlin’s question to focus on the orb.

“Oh? Where?” Satisfied with his work, Merlin joined Arthur on the blanket, sitting directly in front of him.

“I… I don’t know. It’s more of a feeling than a memory. I was afraid. There was something I needed to do, something important. But I was going to fail because it was too dark to find my way. And then a light just like that one appeared, as if someone was looking out for me. After, I…”

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut to focus, but that had the opposite of his desired effect. The harder he concentrated, the more the remnants of the memory slipped away.

“Or maybe it was only a dream.” He opened his eyes to find Merlin watching him intently. “Anyway, are candles not good enough for sorcerers?”

Merlin stared at him for a second longer before replying. “Not when they’re trying to impress someone special, no.”

“Special as in I’m the king or special as in…”

“As in you’re avoiding my original question. Why on earth did you think I would sing to my plants?”

“Because coffee trees come from Axum, yours looked sick, and I thought you were trying to make them feel better with a song.”

“That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” Merlin laughed into his mug. “It’s also the most endearing.”

The image of Merlin completely at ease and bathed in the orb’s glow cast its own spell on Arthur. It might not be moonlight, but it was still quite suitable for kissing. Caught up in thoughts he knew he shouldn’t be having, Arthur fumbled with his coffee, almost dropping it before Merlin’s fingers steadied his wrist.

“Thanks,” Arthur murmured. “I’m beginning to wonder how I’d survive without you coming to my rescue.”

Merlin had inched closer, his knees now touching Arthur’s. The sensation was pleasant, though distracting.

“You’re lucky I’ve given up sailing.”

“It’s horrible,” Arthur said as he remembered why Merlin had to leave home and eventually wound up on the _Excalibur_. “What you told me about Lot, I mean. I’ll need your help, but I think we can put pressure on him in the next round of trade negotiations to free Essetir’s bound sorcerers.”

“You would do that?”

“Of course. And Camelot could offer sanctuary to magic users from other realms who are in danger. Because the _Excalibur_ is only so big and I imagine not everyone wants to go to sea.”

“Some of us do make better sorcerers than sailors,” Merlin conceded. “That includes me.”

“From what I’ve seen, you’re quite capable at everything you attempt.”

“My healing spells are average. And I have it on good authority that I make an atrocious servant.”

“Alright,” Arthur laughed, “I won’t suggest you replace George now that he’s earned a promotion. But you could work with Morgana to oversee magical affairs in Camelot. You’d be the perfect choice. You know what it’s like to have to flee and you understand Camelot’s sorcery code better than anyone else, even me. You’re also amazing with people, including those who haven’t had the easiest time in life. And everyone in Camelot loves you.”

“Everyone?”

The way Merlin was leaning in, the slight upturn of his mouth, the deliberate sip of coffee he took after asking his question – if Arthur didn’t know better, he’d read it as interest.

“Everyone who isn’t a complete turnip.”

He settled for an ambiguous answer rather than a brave one since his sweaty palms and racing heart were arguing with the rational part of his brain reminding him yet again that Merlin had returned to Camelot to pursue another.

“So that rules out Gaheris then.”

“Sod Gaheris. I can understand hating me, but the things he said about you? He’s an absolute turnip. Might as well be growing in the castle gardens.”

“I should magic him into a literal turnip for what he almost did tonight.”

“Hold off on that. It’s not as though he’ll be leaving a cell for the foreseeable future and I can’t have my advisor on magical affairs breaking the new laws. It would look like favoritism when I fail to prosecute you. I don’t mean to pressure you, by the way. It would be a council-level position and I know you’re already busy with your shop. Take some time to think it over and…”

“I’d love to.”

“Really?”

“Really. I like what I’ve built, but running the shop is exhausting for one person, even with magic. There’s no way I could keep up this pace forever. Friends from the _Excalibur_ have already offered to help, so it won’t have to close. Besides, what you’re asking is far more important than coffee.”

“I wouldn’t go that far. If it weren’t for your coffee, I doubt this night would have happened.”

“You’d have gotten here eventually. Although…”

For the first time since they’d entered the glasshouse, Merlin grew hesitant.

“What?”

“I imagine that a council position means we’ll be seeing more of each other.”

Merlin chewed his bottom lip but held Arthur’s gaze.

“A lot more, I’m afraid.” There were only two possible reasons Merlin would ask and Arthur refused to presume. “You may even have to endure my presence on a daily basis. I hope that won’t be too much of a problem.”

“I can think of worse things.”

“Such as?”

“Another two weeks without you.”

It was a shy whisper, but in the quiet of the glasshouse there was no mistaking Merlin’s words. Arthur swallowed hard, unable to speak. This was it – what he’d hoped for since he met Merlin as well as what he’d given up on since long before he almost collided, quite literally, with the man sitting in front of him.

There was no strategy at play, no scheme to unite royal households or seize power. Merlin had built a thriving life long before Arthur had wandered into it. He could easily return to the sea or his mother or an untold number of other places if he so desired. But instead, he wanted Arthur. And Arthur wanted him back.

It was too good to be true and Arthur knew it.

“What about the man?”

“What man?”

“The one you came back for after all these years. You said things were improving…”

“And they are.”

“But…”

Arthur knew he was missing something. Exactly what, he couldn’t say. Merlin gave him an encouraging smile that did nothing to alleviate his confusion. Nothing was making sense. Unsure of what else to do, Arthur shook his head in frustration, causing his flower crown to slip. Merlin drew closer as he reached for Arthur. Soft fingertips grazed along Arthur’s ears as he repositioned the garland back into place.

“There. That’s better.”

Finished with his work, Merlin slid a palm along Arthur’s cheek. Without thinking, Arthur leaned in, savoring the contact. He might not know what the hell was happening, but he knew he’d be a fool to pull away.

Merlin removed the forgotten mug he was still clutching, replacing it with his free hand to weave their fingers together. Bathed in the soft glow from the orb while fireflies danced behind Merlin, the scene was perfect, like something out of a dream.

“You’ve enchanted me,” Arthur whispered.

“Maybe.” Merlin traced his thumb along the underside of Arthur’s wrist, massaging circles into the skin. “Though it’s not as if you haven’t done the same to me.”

“But I’m not a sorcerer.”

Merlin’s actions, though not unwelcome, had done nothing to ease Arthur’s confusion. One part of him wanted answers, while another wanted nothing more than to enjoy this whatever it was they were sharing for as long as it would last.

“And yet you’ve left me spellbound. I tried to resist, you know. It was easier at first. Your father was still alive and my distance kept you safe. It hurt, but there was a reason. I thought time would help mend my heart, that maybe if I travelled far enough I might move on. But it didn’t work, not that I wanted it to. Arthur, I spent the past five years without you and it was hell.”

“What _are_ you talking about?” Arthur had thought he was confused before, but now he was completely lost.

“And what made it worse,” Merlin continued, ignoring Arthur’s question, “was that I had to leave before I could tell you what you’d come to mean to me. I kept putting it off, waiting for the right moment. You were under so much pressure from your father and I was trying to keep you safe. I thought we’d have more time, and then…”

Merlin’s words might not be clear but the anguish on his face was.

“It’s alright,” Arthur said, not entirely sure of what he was reassuring Merlin about. “We’re here now.”

“True. And since fate was kind enough to give us a second chance, I have every intention of getting it right this time.”

Merlin took a deep breath, slowly drawing Arthur closer with the hand still cupping his cheek. Only a hairsbreadth separated their lips.

“Arthur, I know you must be very confused right now. I promise it will all make sense soon. There’s an explanation – it’s long and it’s complicated and I swear that I’ll answer every question you have. Before I do, I’d very much like to kiss you. But only,” Merlin stressed, “if that’s something you’d like as well.”

Arthur nodded, chest too tight to speak as warm breath played across his skin.

“Good,” Merlin whispered, then closed the miniscule distance between them.

It began as a gentle pressing of lips, by any measure chaste. Arthur fought against the spiral of anxiety flooding his mind. Was this really happening? Would Merlin soon realize he’d made a horrible mistake and leave? How bad was his coffee breath? What was he supposed to do with his tongue? Why did his head feel tight?

Then Merlin parted his lips ever so slightly and he sighed into Arthur, instantly banishing the doubts and insecurities, along with the reminders of obligation and responsibility that constantly echoed in Arthur’s mind. He forgot the pressure building in his forehead. Time stopped. Policy and pretense and pleasing the people could get stuffed.

In this one perfect moment, there was nothing in Arthur’s world except Merlin, still squeezing his hand as he kissed Arthur with a hunger that left no questions regarding the state of his heart. With that realization, Arthur deepened the kiss, no longer holding back the flood of emotion he carried for Merlin. It was a graceless, messy, open-mouthed affair, all that Arthur had dreamed of and more.

For a split second, he was distracted by his forehead, the pressure becoming more of a dull ache.

But then his tongue found Merlin’s, and Arthur forgot about the pain, too distracted by the slick glide of warm skin and the soft whimpers echoing through the glasshouse.

There was just Arthur and Merlin, Merlin and Arthur, tangled together. Nothing in Arthur’s life had ever felt more right, almost as if their coming together had somehow been fated over the years. Was it too much to ask for this night to last forever?

The hand cupping his cheek moved to the back of his neck, fingers weaving through his hair, tugging so roughly Arthur shuddered with desire. He wrapped his free arm around Merlin’s shoulders, dragging him into his lap. There was a moment of awkward fumbling, then long legs encircled Arthur’s waist, pulling their bodies flush. There was no way for Arthur to hide the unmistakable sign of his arousal straining against his breeches. Not that there was any reason to worry – Merlin was in a similar state.

All Arthur wanted was to keep going, though clothes were starting to complicate matters. He went for Merlin’s neckerchief, the same purple fabric he’d worn since the first day they’d met. When his fingers reached the knot, it happened – the pain that had been building in his head, which he’d been able to ignore up until this point, grew overwhelming.

It was like the night Merlin had almost kissed him in his chambers only worse – a stabbing sensation unlike anything he’d ever felt before.

As Arthur broke the kiss, a firefly lit up directly in front of him, triggering a wave of excruciating pain that made his stomach churn. He flinched, letting go of Merlin. Even with his eyes squeezed shut, the room seemed to be growing brighter. He buried his head in Merlin’s shoulder, but it did nothing to block the light.

“It’s alright,” Merlin whispered, his arms enveloping Arthur. “I’ve got you. Don’t fight it. It will all be over soon.”

Arthur wanted to pull away, demand that Merlin tell him what the hell was going on, force him to explain what would be over soon. But he couldn’t say anything as the sharp waves of pain pulsed through the rest of his body. His jaw clenched and his muscles seized.

It was now brighter than midday. Arthur wasn’t sure how much more he could endure. Never in his life could he recall such agony. No broken bones or cuts or blows in combat came close to the terrible pounding pressure flooding his head.

Trying to make sense of the pain now causing his body to spasm, Arthur recalled a conversation he’d overheard as a boy, Gaius explaining to Uther that a healthy young knight who’d dropped dead on the training pitch hadn’t succumbed to sorcery but instead to a burst blood vessel in his brain.

Was Arthur to face the same fate?

Merlin was saying something else. Arthur could feel warm breath on his ear but he couldn’t make out the words, Merlin seemingly too far away even though Arthur was pressed against him.

He felt strong hands grasp either side of his head, heard Merlin’s whisper grow louder until it was a shout. Somehow he knew Merlin was trying to help him, trying to use his magic to save him. But Merlin himself had admitted that his healing spells were average at best and the pressure in Arthur’s head only intensified.

Voice raw and full of power, Merlin screamed out the words to an incantation. Then everything exploded, Arthur lost in a sea of blinding white.


	13. Chapter 13

Arthur awoke to bright sunlight.

It was early spring, the time of year when chilly mornings replaced the bitter cold of winter. Not all the trees yet had their leaves, but at least the days were getting longer, providing Arthur with more opportunities to escape the oppressive atmosphere at court.

But that couldn’t be right – he’d presided over the Midsummer festival only a few hours earlier and had been king for years. No, this was a memory and an important one at that, as this was the day that Arthur’s life was irrevocably changed.

He remembered how irritated he’d been that morning. All he wanted was to take off to the forest, but Uther had forbidden him from leaving the confines of the keep for the entire week, demanding that he be present for the arrival of a guest of honor. Prince Arthur didn’t care that Mary Collins was famous throughout the five kingdoms for her singing. He’d much rather be out on patrol, but stuck around to avoid his father’s wrath.

Boredom and frustration were a dangerous combination – not so much for Arthur but definitely for Morris, the prince’s personal manservant. Prince Arthur would have almost felt bad for him had he not been so damn dull and compliant. Even George would have balked at the command to hold a shield while Arthur lobbed daggers at it. Yet there they were, Morris cowering and cringing, but complying nonetheless. The whole affair was less entertaining than Arthur had hoped and he had grown tired of the boorish commentary from the sons of the nobility who tagged after him. Even in his late teens, Arthur knew they weren’t really his friends, but instead followed him around to practice their fathers’ lessons in how to jockey for favor and status.

Arthur watched, recalling how he’d been about to leave to pester Morgana – at least she would fight back – when it happened, the moment that put his life on an entirely different course.

Ignoring his younger self tossing one final dagger, Arthur looked down the street, waiting for Gwen to arrive and tell him off. Except Gwen never came.

Instead, some meddlesome big-eared fool, obviously new in town and oblivious to who he was talking to, blundered his way into Arthur’s life.

“I’m Merlin,” the fool said.

“So I don’t know you.”

“No.”

“Yet you called me friend.”

Gods, he’d been insufferable when he was young.

He shoved that thought aside and pondered what he’d witnessed. If asked earlier that day, he would have sworn an oath that Gwen was the one who’d stepped in to save Morris. That was how Arthur had always remembered it. But here he was, watching a much younger Merlin chastise him, refusing to back down even when Arthur revealed his identity.

And it made sense. Because Gwen had been Morgana’s maid at the time and Morgana had been struggling with headaches and nightmares. It was rare for Gwen to leave her side, even sleeping in her chambers at night. There was no way she’d be wandering the streets at midday, especially without Morgana.

But it couldn’t have been Merlin – that memory was from a decade past. Maybe someone else had chastised him on the street, someone he couldn’t recall, and his mind had inserted Merlin in their place. It was a good choice – title and rank had no appeal for him.

Confused, Arthur shook his head and the scene morphed.

A few days had passed from the confrontation in the street. Merlin stood in his chambers, listening to Arthur rattle off a list of chores that would have even the most devoted of castle staff running for the hills. Arthur knew Merlin had no desire to be a servant. His demands about mucking stalls, ironing his smallclothes, and polishing the underside of the table should have been more than enough to send him packing.

Arthur needed it to work – it had to work. There was no way he could keep this man as a servant no matter what his father proclaimed. He could have tolerated Merlin’s lack of skill and excess of insolence if he hadn’t been so godsdamn beautiful. It was already challenging enough for Arthur to keep that part of himself, the part that already knew on some level that he’d never take a wife, hidden. If left too long in Merlin’s company, he knew he’d eventually give himself away.

“Shall I sew little cloaks for the mice in your chambers as well, sire? It won’t do to have them looking slovenly in the presence of royalty.” His eyes sparkled as if he knew what Arthur was trying to do and why.

That was it – the moment Arthur fell hard. He muttered something about Merlin adding vermin control to his list of chores, then commanded him to fetch food from the kitchens, lest he suddenly make a love confession. Only when the door closed and Arthur was certain that Merlin would be gone for a little while did he let himself slump in a chair. Head in his hands, he reflected on what had happened. He was, without a doubt, completely and totally screwed.

Watching the exchange between Merlin and his younger self, Arthur struggled to understand what he’d witnessed. Just like the previous scene, this felt like a memory, authentic and real, that was clearly of grave importance to Arthur.

Yet it made no sense; George had been his servant since he sacked Morris. Right? Maybe not. George had won servant of the year at least three times for his attention to the castle’s brass fixtures, the last time right after a troll had almost stolen the throne from Uther. Morris was long gone but George was still stationed with the general pool of butlers. So who had been serving Arthur?

Before he could give it thought, his attention shifted as his mind was flooded with memories.

Highlights from the next few years of Arthur’s life played out in rapid succession. There were tournaments and battles, ceremonies and quests, diplomatic functions and court pageantry. He finally learned who had been waiting with Gaius at his bedside after his attempted elopement with Sophia. Not every memory was a moment of glory or a high stakes adventure. Princes were not immune from tedium and Arthur recalled dull dinners with his father, routine paperwork, and other mundane tasks.

Through it all, Merlin was there. Sometimes by his side, sometimes waiting in the wings, but always nearby, eyes fixed on Arthur.

They had grown close, so in tune with one another that Arthur sometimes had to remind himself that Merlin couldn’t read his thoughts. It wasn’t that Arthur was arrogant - ok, maybe a little - but they had developed such a strong bond that it almost felt as though they were two parts of the same person. Merlin was Arthur’s rock, giving him constant reassurance and support. Arthur was… well, it seemed to be a one-sided relationship, at least from what Arthur could recall.

Some of the memories were less than pleasant. He wanted to throttle himself as he sometimes tormented Merlin with slaps and taunts that were far outside the bounds of mere horseplay. Worry and dread washed over him as he watched Merlin ride off to help defend Ealdor from raiders. He shuddered in fear when the witchfinder accused Merlin of sorcery.

And then there was the realization of where Arthur had previously seen the glowing orb from the glasshouse, the ball of light leading him home with the Mortaeus flower that would save Merlin’s life. It was on that day that Arthur learned firsthand the depths of his father’s cruelty, watching in horror as Uther crushed the flower, explaining that Merlin had to die because of Arthur’s disobedience. It was also when he learned that he had another family, bonded by love rather than blood, as Gwen, Leon, and Morgana conspired to smuggle the flower to Gaius so he could brew Merlin’s remedy.

Regardless of the circumstances, good or bad, as he watched countless events from his life play out, every time he caught Merlin looking at younger versions of him, all he saw in Merlin’s eyes was love.

There had been times when Arthur had genuinely wondered if his feelings were reciprocated. Merlin stood too close to him, spent more time than necessary adjusting Arthur’s clothes, let his fingers graze Arthur’s when handing him his sword or quill or whatever else it was Arthur pretended to be too lazy to fetch. 

On a couple of occasions he’d almost confessed what he felt.

Once, at a tavern in a remote village. The woman who brought them mead had called Merlin handsome. Arthur’s initial jealousy soon shifted to fear. Never before had he considered that Merlin might fall for someone else. Riding back to Camelot, still free from the prying eyes and ears of court, Arthur came up with at least ten ways to tell Merlin about his feelings, but choked on the words each time he opened his mouth to speak.

Then there had been the last Beltane they’d spent together. Though Uther had banned the holiday because of its Old Religion origins, Arthur had known Merlin long enough to have heard stories about how it was observed in Ealdor. The details about fertility rites had been especially intriguing, factoring heavily in Arthur’s dreams for over a month. Arthur might not be able to replicate the bonfire and the dancing without Uther taking notice, but he could at least give Merlin something to commemorate the day.

Arthur struggled to think of a gift that was small enough to not arouse suspicions, but that would still convey the weight of what he felt. His nerves had been a wreck as he waited for Merlin to open the package.

“You always wear red or blue,” Arthur explained as Merlin carefully lifted the fabric. “So I thought you might like purple as well. Here. Let me help.”

Merlin stood completely still as Arthur reached behind him to untie the blue neckerchief he was wearing. Setting it to the side, Arthur positioned the new one. Carefully, he secured it in place, his trembling fingers brushing Merlin’s skin as he tied the knot. Merlin inhaled sharply. They were so close that Arthur could feel the heat from his skin as his face flushed.

“Arthur, I…“

A loud knock interrupted whatever Merlin had been about to say. Arthur jumped back as a guard called through the door that the king had summoned him.

“Thank you,” Merlin whispered as they walked through the halls. From that day forward, he only wore the purple one. Even now in the present, after going to sea and then returning to an Arthur who didn’t remember him, Merlin was still wearing it.

Arthur was now willing to accept that these scenes were memories – some deep, intrinsic part of him knew that these weren’t visions or illusions. Everything he had seen that night had happened to him at some point in the past.

That realization left one very troubling question. Why had Arthur forgotten? Only two weeks earlier, he’d confessed to Merlin that he would never forget him. Yet he had. So what happened?

More scenes flashed by. Morgana’s nightmares were getting worse. There was the fire in her chambers. Merlin started spending more time with her and Arthur was worried that something was developing between them, especially when he found Merlin wandering the castle with flowers for her but not for him.

And then there was the awful night when Morgana fled. Looking back on it, Arthur found the whole thing heartbreakingly absurd. He was sitting at the dinner table with her and Uther. About a month before they’d found the old letters exchanged between Uther and her mother, but hadn’t said anything, unsure of how he would react to their discovery.

It wasn’t too long after Morgana’s birthday – she was wearing the dress that had been a joint present from Arthur, who provided the silk, and Gwen, who used her seamstress skills to make something more comfortable than the gowns Uther commissioned.

Meals had grown more tense since the discovery of the letters; Morgana’s justified fury at Uther strained her self-control almost to its breaking point. Arthur suspected something else was troubling her, though what, she refused to say. That night, Arthur had been trying to catch Merlin’s eye, largely ignoring what his father had been rambling on about.

“Damn it,” Morgana interrupted, cutting off Uther’s rant about whatever it was Lord Whoever had done earlier that day to give him offense.

Arthur turned just in time to see a large rip in her sleeve suddenly mend itself.

“What did you do?”

On instinct, Arthur shivered. Years of experience had taught him that there was far less danger when Uther was yelling. The time to worry was when his voice grew quiet and cold.

“Nothing,” Morgana stammered. “I thought I’d snagged my dress on the chair but…”

“You did. And then you enchanted away the tear.”

“I didn’t. I couldn’t. I…”

“Don’t lie to me. I saw your eyes change color.”

Arthur stopped breathing.

“Witch!” Uther yelled, drawing his sword and advancing on her where she still sat.

The fact that Morgana was in danger pulled Arthur from his stupor; he leapt from his chair with his own sword drawn. Before he could make it to Morgana’s side, Merlin had stepped forward, using an unseen force to hurl a bench at Uther, the impact of it crashing him against the wall.

“And you… a sorcerer. Arthur, kill them both.”

Arthur found Merlin’s eyes. Never in all the time that they’d known one another had he looked at Arthur with that degree of fear.

“Run,” Arthur said. “Both of you. Get out of here.”

He allowed himself one last glance at Merlin. There was so much he needed to tell him, so much he’d never said. But there was no time. Uther had regained his footing, limping but still advancing, sword again raised as he screamed for the guards.

“Keep her safe,” Arthur said, turning to face his father. “I’ll hold him off for as long as I can, but you can never come back. Now go.”

What Uther lacked in skill, he made up for in rage, and it likely would have been a fight to the death had the guards not arrived to drag Arthur off to a cell.

Uther kept him confined for a month. Arthur refused to eat or drink until a contingent of his father’s most loyal guards pinned him to the stone floor, forcing a slurry down his throat.

There were strict orders to keep Gaius, Gwen, and Leon away. For two weeks, no one spoke to him. At the start of the third, Uther arrived to demand an apology. Instead, Arthur, lost in a grief-induced madness, spat in his face before disowning his father, renouncing his claim to the throne, and declaring his love for Merlin.

The king said nothing, clenching his jaw before leaving.

At the end of the fourth week Uther returned, this time with two visitors. One Arthur didn’t recognize. His bald head and worn face suggested he was older. The other was Cenred. Uther had never really cared for Essetir’s king, but the two realms had been at peace after strained diplomacy.

“As you can see,” Uther was telling Cenred, “it’s a clear case of bewitchment. My son’s servant was a sorcerer in disguise, biding his time as a useless buffoon so he could turn Arthur against me. I wouldn’t have asked this favor if I had any other options.”

“You were too brutal in how you handled sorcerers,” Cenred chided. “Slaughter creates martyrs and righteous causes. In Essetir, we have more humane ways of controlling sorcerers. Isn’t that right, Alator?”

The man trailing Cenred, presumably Alator, said nothing, but neither king was listening. They’d stopped in front of Arthur’s cell, Uther unlocking the door so Cenred could shove Alator inside.

“You might not want to watch this part,” Cenred told Uther. “Besides, we need to finalize the cession of the border villages you’ve promised as payment.”

As they walked away, Arthur tried to lunge at Alator but found he could neither move nor speak.

“My magic is holding you in place,” Alator explained. “It’s better for both of us this way.”

Alator stepped closer, placing a hand on either side of Arthur’s head before closing his eyes and whispering what Arthur assumed was a spell. Then there was a strange sensation, not exactly painful but definitely uncomfortable. He could feel Alator’s presence in his mind, searching for something. Arthur tried to keep him out but he didn’t know how.

“Well,” Alator said after a minute of probing, “that changes everything. Before we begin, I’ll allow you to ask any questions you may have.”

“What are you going to do to me?” Arthur’s fear was rising but he tried not to show it.

“I’m going to save you.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

“Your father believes you’ve been enchanted; it’s the only explanation he’s willing to accept for your recent behavior. We both know that’s not the case. I cannot reverse an enchantment that doesn’t exist, but neither can I leave you to your father’s wrath. I do not possess the seers’ gifts, but I have looked inside your heart. You have such potential to do good, to create peace and prosperity, to build a society that embraces and supports all of its people. You might one day even inspire other rulers to follow your example. But none of that will happen if your father disowns you.”

“He wouldn’t.”

“He would, and possibly worse. Which is why I’m going to save you.”

“You’ll help me escape?”

“In a way. I can’t magic you out of this cell – that would lead to a war between Camelot and Essetir that would cause considerable suffering. Instead, you must be the one to bear the burden. It will require great sacrifice on your part, but I can ensure that your father allows you to walk free and one day take the throne.”

“What must I do?”

“Forget Merlin.”

“No! I refuse. I can pretend that I forgot him or…”

“It won’t work. What you feel for him is too strong. You’ll lash out again and be back in this cell before the week is over. It’s already going to be difficult enough for you to face Uther knowing that he banished Morgana.”

“Why can I keep my memories of her but not of Merlin?”

“Forgetting the king’s ward would raise too many questions. Word of her departure has already reached Essetir. You two were close – people will expect you to be hurt and to lash out, and Uther will tolerate it to a point. But servants come and go. They do not win the hearts of princes, especially not manservants. That’s why Uther believes you’re enchanted. I’ve seen the depths of your feelings for Merlin – can you honestly tell me that you will be able to restrain yourself for the rest of your father’s life?”

Arthur said nothing. There was no point. They both knew the answer and the clanging of keys outside the dungeon door indicated that they were out of time.

“Get on with it,” Arthur snapped.

“He will always be a part of you,” Alator said as he again lifted his hands to Arthur’s head. “I couldn’t erase that even if I wanted to. Now brace yourself. This won’t be pleasant.”

Then Alator began casting his spell and Arthur’s world went black.


	14. Chapter 14

Arthur was lying on his back when he came to. Even before he opened his eyes, he knew he was no longer in the cell, as the comforting smell of fresh earth now replaced the dank odor of mold and decay. Something light flitted across his face, causing his skin to itch. He scrunched his nose, trying to chase it away.

“How are you feeling?” a familiar voice asked.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, bolting upright. “I thought I’d lost you.”

“Easy,” Merlin said. “Drink this.”

Arthur gulped down the cool water from the mug Merlin offered, then tossed it aside to pull him into a bone-crushing hug.

They were still in the glasshouse. Merlin’s orb shone down on them and fireflies danced in the air. Judging from the position of the moon through the glass panes in the roof, no more than a few minutes had passed, though to Arthur it felt like he’d relived years of his life. He buried his face in Merlin’s hair, inhaling deeply as relief washed over him.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur whispered as Merlin’s arms encircled him. “I should have protected you both. If I’d only…”

“Don’t start with that. We wouldn’t have escaped without you.”

“What happened when you left? Where did you go?”

“To sea. That wasn’t a lie. The _Excalibur_ really has been around since the Great Purge. With some help from Gaius and Kilgharrah, Morgana and I were able to find it.”

“Kilgharrah? The one you said was a dragon of a captain?” Suddenly Arthur remembered another night from many years ago when he had found himself sprawled on the ground with Merlin at his side. “He’s not _a_ great dragon, he’s _the_ Great Dragon.”

“I might have been a little loose with the details the night you thought you defeated him,” Merlin confessed. “Morgana and I flew on his back to the ship so no one would suspect where we’d gone.”

“Why did you stay away so long? I know it wasn’t safe when my father was alive, but after…”

“It’s complicated. Through Elena we got word that something had happened to you after we left, but it wasn’t completely clear what. I was able to exchange a few letters with Gaius. He knew Alator had done something to your mind but there are so many memory spells…”

“Yes, yes, I know. Gaius went on at length when we were revising the laws.”

“He tried to reverse it, tried every spell he knew. Not only did they not work, but any attempt to counter Alator’s enchantment caused you great harm. Do you remember the fever you had four winters ago? It was a side effect of his last attempt.”

“That’s the sickest I’ve ever been.”

“Yes and Gaius wasn’t sure you were going to make it. After that, he gave up.”

“And you didn’t think to come back to try?” Arthur immediately regretted his words as Merlin flinched in his arms. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

“What you have to understand,” Merlin interrupted, “is that my magic is far more powerful than Gaius’s. If his limited attempts caused that much damage, then I didn’t dare think of trying. And so, even after Uther died, I stayed away. Because you’d look at me as a stranger. And I wasn’t sure that I could bear it.”

Arthur squeezed Merlin tighter.

“What changed?”

“The king of Essetir. Lot deposed Cenred and Alator used the ensuing chaos to escape. I think he’s living in Mercia now. Anyway, he had Druid friends who knew some of the other crew of the _Excalibur_. Word got back to him that Morgana and I were on the ship and he sent a letter explaining what he’d been forced to do to you along with how the enchantment might be broken.”

“And how was that?”

“With a kiss. There were some conditions. It had to be consensual, from a place of love, and with no deceptions. If I tried to force it or fool you, your memory loss would be permanent. Even if all the conditions were met, Alator doubted that it would work. He thought he’d been sent to break an enchantment, not create one, which left him having to improvise. It was entirely possible that you’d kiss me and still not remember who I was.”

Arthur decided it was better to laugh than to cry. “I suppose it’s understandable. Who wouldn’t want to uproot their entire life on the off chance that they might get to kiss me?”

“Shut up. You really are an insufferable prat.”

“You said I was rehabilitated.”

“You’re relapsing. Even before I received his letter, I’d been thinking about coming back. I missed so many people – Gaius, Gwen, Leon. Oh, and George.”

“Anyone else?”

“Let me think… Elyan. I can’t believe I almost forgot him.”

Arthur let out a huff. He knew Merlin was teasing him, knew there was no reason to feel rejected, yet a part of him felt it nonetheless.

“Yes, you numpty, I missed you, too. Not one single day passed that I didn’t think about you.”

It was a good thing he was still hugging Merlin. Otherwise Arthur might not be able to hide the tears welling in his eyes.

“Did anyone remember you?”

Never in the many times that he’d talked with Gwen about Merlin had she given any indication that she’d known him from an earlier time in her life.

“Mainly the people I was close friends with before I left, like Gwen and Leon. Some servants, a few knights, not that many nobles,” Merlin scoffed. “Servants are looked at as furniture.”

“Not anymore,” Arthur countered.

“That’s true. You’ve completely transformed the realm in such a short span of time. I was genuinely surprised when I returned. Everyone is happier and healthier, and not only the people. I can feel it in the fields and the forests.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not. Your policies don’t force people to overexploit the land. Everything is more awake, more alive now. And that’s all thanks to you.”

“I couldn’t have done it alone.”

“No one could, but you have the good sense to listen to others. You’re a good man, Arthur, and it shows in what you’ve accomplished.”

“Did anyone else know about your magic?” Arthur wasn’t sure he could stay composed if Merlin offered any more praise.

“Before I left, definitely Gaius and maybe George. He used to watch me closely while I worked. I always thought it was to find fault with my technique but after his admission tonight, I wonder if he suspected we shared the same secret.”

Remembering the voice from the Midsummer crowd, Arthur smiled. Of course George’s primary concern would be the application of magic to polishing.

“After I returned, I had to tell Gwen – she needed to know that Morgana was safe.”

“Which explains why she was trying to play matchmaker – she wanted to help me remember.”

“Well, that and I may have confessed another secret as well, one that she figured out not too long after I first arrived. Leon walked in on us talking, so he found out as well. He was on patrol the night that I fled with Morgana and never knew exactly what happened. He would have had your back if he’d been there.”

“Of that I have no doubt.”

“That wasn’t how I wanted you to find out. About me, I mean.”

“Merlin, you simultaneously saved Morgana _and_ dealt a massive blow to my father’s pride. I should commission a bard to write a poem in your honor.”

“Yes, but there was so much I needed to tell you. I thought we’d have more time.”

“And now we do. Because you came back. Though I have to ask, why coffee?”

Merlin shifted in Arthur’s arms so they were facing one another.

“Arthur, I cannot believe that you of all people are asking that question. You literally broke out of your own castle to satisfy your craving for coffee.”

“I am not disputing the marketability of it. What I am asking you, my wandering sorcerer, is why you chose to open a shop in Camelot.”

Merlin reached for the flower crown where it lay on the blanket, likely having fallen off when Arthur collapsed from the force of the memories.

“For the reasons I told you when you first asked that morning at breakfast. I wanted to come home.” He positioned the ring of flowers back on Arthur’s head, adjusting bits of hair as he worked. “Morgana suggested opening a shop to blend in, and it seemed like a good way to settle close to those I cared about. Even if it did mean having a royal prat storm in afterhours demanding service.”

He was grinning at Arthur, his expression so warm that it took all of Arthur’s self-control not to kiss him senseless.

“Your door wasn’t locked. How was I to know you were closed? Besides, if anyone was rude, it was you. I was convinced you hated me.”

“Never. Never ever. I admit I was a bit standoffish…”

“More than a bit.”

“Only because I didn’t want to cling to false hope. There was no guarantee you’d ever want to kiss me of your own free will – I admit I got my hopes up the morning you fell asleep in my shop. You muttered something about not kissing your friends.”

Arthur blushed at the memory. “Why didn’t you kiss me then?”

“Because you were so exhausted I couldn’t tell if you meant it or not. Remember, the kiss had to be consensual. And even if I had, the odds weren’t that great that your memories would return. I would have loved you anyway, you know, but to have you look at me and not know... And then if you remembered, there was the matter of how I’d deceived you. Once we started to get close, I had nightmares that you’d kiss me, recall how I hid my magic, then banish me.”

“You were dreaming about kissing me?”

“Shut up. It was awful. In my dreams you always recoiled and shoved me away.”

“Which proves that even powerful sorcerers can be foolish. I admit that I forgot you, something I never should have done…”

“It really wasn’t your fault.”

“But it always felt as though something was missing. I thought it was Morgana, that I was mourning her absence. I did and I’m relieved she’s back. But what I now realize is that even though I couldn’t recall your name or your face, I still knew you were gone. I think it’s why I trusted you with my mother’s sigil that first day when I forgot to bring coins. On some level, I recognized you. And now that I have you back, there’s no way I’d ever send you away.”

“What if I let Gwaine run up a massive tab in your name at the Rising Sun?”

“I’d thank him for looking after you and Morgana, then buy his drinks for life.”

“What if I did something to embarrass you in public, like making your breeches come undone in the middle of a council meeting?”

“I’d demand you help me adjust them. Somewhere private.”

The glow from the orb provided enough light for Arthur to catch the dilation in Merlin’s pupils. He licked his lips as if considering Arthur’s words.

“What if you thought you were alone in your chambers one night, only to find me hiding under your bed?”

“As I recall, you’ve done that before. I should have left my father to the troll and invited you under the covers with me. It crossed my mind at the time.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“I didn’t think someone as amazing as you could possibly want someone like me.”

Merlin let out a deep breath, then pressed his forehead against Arthur’s.

“I need to make something completely clear. There is one person who has my heart and that’s you. It’s always been you. And it always will be.”

Arthur shivered, reeling from the enormity of Merlin’s words. “You kept going on about the man you came back for… I suppose that means I’ve spent the past few weeks jealous of myself.”

“You really are a dollophead! Remember, Alator said there couldn’t be deception if the enchantment was to break. Nothing I told you was a lie. I might have omitted names and been vague with a few details, but that was only so you wouldn’t think that I’d gone mad from too much time spent on a ship.”

“I always hoped, but I never knew how to tell you. That’s why I gave you this.” Arthur toyed with the fabric of Merlin’s neckerchief. “I suppose it seems foolish now but…”

A warm hand closed over Arthur’s.

“I’ve worn it every day since I left. It was like having a piece of you still with me.”

Arthur’s chest felt as though it might burst.

There were many things left to discuss. He had a strong suspicion that tonight’s encounter with Gaheris wasn’t the first time Merlin had saved his life. He wanted to hear all of those stories, along with more of Merlin’s adventures at sea. But that could all keep.

Right now Arthur needed to make up for his hesitancy all those years ago.

“Alator’s enchantment,” Arthur began, summoning all of his courage, “it sounds like very powerful magic.”

“It is. Most sorcerers don’t possess such skill, but Alator trained as a high priest of the Old Religion.”

“If he’s that capable, then it stands to reason that we might not have broken it.”

“Of course we did. Your memories are back and…”

“What if we only cracked it? What if it can mend itself?”

“That’s not how those spells work. Once the…”

“Merlin, this is important. I can’t risk even the slightest chance that I might again forget you. We need to make certain that it’s broken. Preferably smashed. Into very tiny pieces.”

“I suppose we can get you to Gaius, have him look you over.”

“There’s no time. What if my memories start to fade before we make it back to the castle? We’re going to have to deal with this right here, right now.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“Well, it took one kiss to crack the enchantment. It would stand to reason that obliterating it would require more kisses. Lots of them. And often, I think. At least several times a day for the foreseeable future. Possibly for the rest of my life.”

Merlin’s skin grew warm where it touched Arthur’s. He gently shook his head but his eyes were sparkling.

“That was a horrible line.”

“Did it work?”

“Yes.”

Before Merlin could say another word, Arthur crashed their lips together.


	15. Chapter 15

This time there was no flood of anxiety, no spiral of what-ifs. Panic and doubt slunk away, their services not required.

Because this time Arthur knew exactly who he was kissing. This was the man who had kept him safe, protected his sister, and waited five years for him. Merlin, who had seen so much of the world, been to places that made Camelot look dull in comparison, but returned anyway, accepting that Arthur might never remember him.

And if Arthur’s restored memories were to be trusted, the feelings of longing and desire he’d hidden away all those years ago weren’t as one-sided as he’d thought. So there was no reason to worry.

Not when it was Merlin’s hot breath dancing across his face, just as it had on a night long past when, trapped at a painfully dull feast, he’d leaned close to whisper something amusing for Arthur’s ear only. The words never registered. The low murmur of Merlin’s voice, warm against Arthur’s skin, had gone straight to his groin. Caught off guard, he dropped his fork, Merlin smirking before wandering off to fetch another.

The past faded as Merlin deepened the kiss, claiming Arthur’s mouth with surprising force, brazen tongue slipping inside.

Dear gods, that tongue. From their earliest days, Arthur had been captivated by it. For weeks he dreamt about that morning in the marketplace – when Merlin licked his lips right after insisting that he could take Arthur apart with less than one blow – his unconscious mind allowing the scene to play out with a very different ending, one that featured less of the mace and more of Merlin walking on his knees.

At the time, Arthur hadn’t dared to consider the possibility of those dreams becoming reality. There was no way, his younger self supposed, Merlin would consider doing _that_ with Arthur. Not that Arthur would have gone so far as to propose it. Better to pine forever than watch Merlin recoil from him, Prince Arthur had decided.

But now, as Merlin straddled his lap, fingers wound through his hair, Arthur allowed himself to wonder if Merlin might be amenable. He was obscenely skilled with his tongue, Arthur’s breath hitching as it slid along his own. Not wanting to be rude, he tried to match Merlin’s technique. The hands clutching his hair suggested his efforts were appreciated, tightening their hold to the verge of pain.

Arthur didn’t care. All that mattered was that Merlin’s fingers were clinging to him. He’d watched them for years – gripping a serving pitcher, running the whetstone back and forth to sharpen a sword, stealing berries from Arthur’s plate in plain sight before popping them in his mouth, one by one, staring Arthur in the eye as he did so.

It had been a day in late summer when the kitchens had sent up the last of the season’s fresh blackberries. Left on the vine too long, they bordered on overripe, their juice trickling down Merlin’s hands when he snatched them. Arthur had meant to call him down for the theft but all he could do was stare as Merlin licked his fingers clean, Arthur too preoccupied with keeping his breathing steady to say anything about the pilfered fruit.

Hours later, with Merlin dispatched on an absurdly time-consuming errand and the door to his chambers locked and bolted, Arthur stripped off his clothes and sprawled out on the bed, eyes squeezed shut as he licked his own fingers. It took a moment of awkward fumbling, as so many things do on the first attempt, but eventually Arthur found a position that worked. As the initial discomfort morphed into something far more pleasant, he imagined that it was Merlin between his legs, sliding those long, graceful fingers inside him.

Arthur shuddered at the memory and Merlin pulled back, breaking off the kiss.

“Alright?” Merlin relaxed his grip on Arthur’s hair but didn’t let go.

“Yeah. You?”

“Yeah. Just a little hot.”

“More than a little, I’d say.”

“You really are the king of bad lines.”

Despite what Merlin had been doing not one minute before with his tongue, Arthur blushed.

“Maybe, but you’re still here.” Arthur reached for the knot securing Merlin’s neckerchief. “Better?”

Merlin nodded as Arthur folded the fabric, then tossed it under the base of a nearby coffee tree for safekeeping.

He traced a finger along Merlin’s exposed skin, which earned him a soft whimper. Taking that as a sign of encouragement, he replaced his hand with his mouth, licking, sucking, biting kisses along Merlin’s neck. The grip on his hair tightened and Merlin craned his head, causing the collar of his tunic to slide down his shoulder.

How could something so simple be so alluring? Arthur had asked himself the same question about a year into their friendship. He’d called for Merlin in the middle of the night, unable to sleep as Uther’s work crews carried out noisy excavations searching for treasure the king insisted had been hidden in the caverns beneath the castle.

As Merlin rushed in to answer the royal summons, Arthur forgot whatever order he’d been about to bark out. Whereas Merlin normally arrived each morning fully dressed and ready for the day, this time he wore only a blue sleeping tunic and trousers. The tunic had been far too big for him – he’d been so skinny then – and Merlin hadn’t bothered with its laces. His frame wasn’t large enough to hold the oversized collar in place and it shifted as he walked, leaving his collarbone fully exposed.

He stood there, unkempt but by no means scandalous, at least not when judged by the standards applied to noblewomen’s necklines. And besides, Arthur saw more of men’s bodies when he went on patrol with the knights. By no means should it have affected Arthur as it did. But this was different, because this was Merlin.

Arthur couldn’t pry his eyes away. Maybe it was the way the fabric hung off Merlin’s slender body or the fact that Arthur wasn’t wearing a tunic at all. It didn’t help that they were standing mere feet away from his bed, Arthur’s mind piecing together these details to provide him with suggestions of better ways to spend a sleepless night, ones that involved Merlin’s tunic discarded on the floor, Arthur keeping him warm instead.

Lost in a fantasy that involved far fewer clothes and far more naked skin, Arthur found his hand halfway extended, reaching out for Merlin’s shoulder. He jerked it away, pretending to gesture in anger about the noise, ordering Merlin to go stop the work crew.

Had Merlin known what Arthur had been about to do? Was that why his neckerchief went missing for the next few days, why he chose tunics with progressively larger collars?

Maybe he would ask about it later. For now, Arthur was more concerned with covering Merlin’s shoulder in kisses, savoring the salty taste of the skin beneath his tongue.

Distracted by the intricacies of Merlin’s collarbone, Arthur barely missed the wayward elbow that almost collided with his head. He sat back, allowing himself a moment of amusement as he watched Merlin struggle to free himself from the uncooperative tunic.

Merlin had always been clumsy, awkward in a way that Arthur found far more endearing than annoying. Not that he ever admitted it, opting to instead mock Merlin mercilessly. The dropped dinner plates, the overturned water buckets, the occasional collisions with pieces of furniture all provided Arthur with ample opportunities to engage in what, at the time, he had imagined to be a brilliant game of covert flirtation. He sometimes wondered if Merlin was on to him – messes were frequently cleaned up on all fours, his backside positioned in Arthur’s line of sight.

And then there was the changing nature of Merlin’s accidents. As time passed, there were still the occasional spills, but increasingly his mishaps brought him in contact with Arthur.

Dodging the table corner caused his hip to bump against Arthur’s. Tripping over a root in the forest propelled him forward, right into Arthur’s arms. The tiniest upturn at the corner of Merlin’s lips suggested that maybe the collision wasn’t entirely accidental.

Then there had been the incident with the napkin, which slipped from Merlin’s fingers one morning after Arthur finished breakfast, falling to his lap. Before he could move, Merlin reached for it, leaning down so their faces were eyelevel as his hand touched Arthur’s thigh, lingering for a few seconds before pulling the napkin away.

Tonight’s uncoordinated display appeared more genuine than staged, Merlin’s frustration mounting until Arthur came to his rescue, untangling him from the bothersome tunic before lifting it over his head.

“Gods you’re beautiful.”

Arthur’s eyes were fixed on Merlin’s chest, pale skin bathed in the soft light of the orb. He’d filled out – likely from his time at sea – muscles more clearly defined without the loose cloth obscuring them. There were more scars than Arthur would have liked, each evidence of a time he hadn’t been there to keep Merlin safe.

Merlin took his right hand, pressing it against his chest.

“You were always with me. Here.”

The tender words, the pounding of Merlin’s heart under his palm – it was almost too much. Anything he said would be inadequate and graceless, so Arthur responded with a kiss.

Palm still pressed firmly to Merlin’s chest, he let his other hand wander. For years he’d restrained himself, tried to shove away the desire he felt. Now that he had the freedom to touch Merlin, he intended to take full advantage of it.

Merlin must have had a similar realization. Strong hands massaged Arthur’s back, running the length of it several times before stopping at the hem of his tunic so fingers could hook underneath, knuckles grazing Arthur’s bare skin.

When Merlin first entered Arthur’s service, he had no experience tending to the needs of a noble, much less a prince. There were a good number of things Arthur had to explain to him in terms of expected duties, and he’d rattled off the same list that had been reserved for Morris, with one key omission. Under no circumstances did Arthur want Merlin helping him dress and undress each day. That would be inviting a kind of trouble that could only lead Arthur to ruin.

And yet somehow, Merlin knew – maybe he’d been told by the other servants, maybe he had a knack for torturing princes, maybe the gods simply wanted to laugh at Arthur’s unease. Regardless of the source of the revelation, Merlin showed up the third morning of his employment with the full intent of being the realm’s best servant, at least when it came to the state of Arthur’s clothes.

No amount of arguing would work – what Merlin lacked in physical strength he made up for in stubborn determination, wrestling Arthur from his bed and out of his nightclothes. Had Arthur imagined the shallow breath as he stood stripped down in front of Merlin? Was the awkward fumbling with fabric and laces and buckles nothing more than Merlin’s lack of experience with the complexities of a prince’s wardrobe? If so, why did his skill never improve after years of practice? And did he have to insist on kneeling each morning to tuck Arthur’s trouser legs into his boots, occasionally sparing Arthur a glance from the floor, eyes shining through his lashes?

At the time, Arthur had been fighting fit, his body showing the results of near daily training with the knights. The only thing that caused him embarrassment were his memories of the previous night’s self-indulgent masturbatory fantasies, ones that involved Merlin kneeling before him but for reasons that had little to do with boots.

This time, as Merlin stripped his tunic off in one quick motion, Arthur worried about the toll time and the throne had taken on his body. Yes, he was still strong and quite capable with a sword, but the functions of government left less time for training.

Tonight, as Merlin’s eyes drank him in, fear and doubt began to resurface.

“I’m…” Arthur hesitated, gesturing at his abdomen.

“Perfect,” Merlin whispered. “Absolutely perfect.”

Knees still locked on either side of Arthur’s thighs, Merlin eased forward, gently pushing Arthur down until he was lying on his back, the soft wool of the blanket against his skin. He could see the stars through the top panels of the glasshouse, the orb not bright enough to obscure them. The smell of fresh earth from the glasshouse floor blended with the floral scent of Arthur’s festival garland where it lay nearby having fallen from his head.

“That’s better,” Merlin murmured.

Arthur sighed as he closed his eyes, relishing the soft kisses Merlin peppered across his face. Light fingers grazed across his skin, tracing shapes along his chest and ribs. He wrapped his arms around Merlin, drawing his body closer, desperate for more contact. Merlin indulged him in a deep kiss, then drew away, skimming his teeth along Arthur’s throat.

Strong fingers gripped Arthur’s side as Merlin shifted his attention from Arthur’s neck to his chest, his mouth making it abundantly clear that this was a mutual attraction. Arthur hissed, letting the sensation subsume him, his arousal fueled not only by want but also by being wanted.

Yes, he’d been pursued over the years. From what he’d been told, he was easy on the eyes, though most of that assessment came from noblewomen who’d been shoved in his direction by their scheming fathers. Did they really mean what they said about his looks and his charm or were they simply reaching for power and wealth? Not that it mattered. Even if their attraction had been genuine, Arthur would never have been able to return it.

But the constant bombardment of strategic proposals had taken their toll. Over the years, Arthur gradually came to believe that while many might want the status he could bestow, no one would actually want _him_. Especially if they discovered the insecurity and uncertainty lurking below his public façade.

Merlin, though, knew him, the good and the bad. Merlin had put up with him on days when by all rights he should have told Arthur to get stuffed and walked out of his life. Instead, he stayed until he couldn’t, eventually returning clinging to his own foolish hope for a future together. Merlin loved him even when Arthur didn’t know him.

So what if he wasn’t quite as sculpted as he had been before? How could he possibly worry about something as stupid as an extra hole in his belt when it was Merlin’s mouth sucking kisses across his chest, Merlin’s lips teasing his nipples, Merlin’s tongue gliding along his belly?

A finger slipped beneath the waistband of his breeches. Arthur’s eyes shot open and he stopped breathing.

Merlin paused. “If it’s too much, we don’t have to…”

“Please.” Arthur’s voice was so ragged and desperate he barely recognized it as his own. “Just… please.”

He knew his words were ambiguous but they were all he could manage. Thankfully, Merlin understood him, just as he always had.

The pressure on his thighs lifted as Merlin moved to the blanket, then deft fingers dealt with his breeches, swiftly undoing the laces before stripping them off with a skill that would put even the most adept servants to shame.

Merlin sat back on his heels, eyes wandering the length of Arthur’s body before settling on his cock.

“Oh.” It was more of a gasp than a whisper.

“You were never that efficient before,” Arthur tried to joke, falling back on banter to help steady his nerves. He’d been the center of Merlin’s undivided attention countless times, but never like this. The vulnerability of being so exposed, so seen, was both terrifying and exhilarating.

“I had my reasons for going slow.” Merlin’s voice was heavy, his words taking Arthur back to their second autumn together.

Until that point, Arthur had never asked for help with bathing apart from filling the tub and heating the water. He would have kept it that way forever had it not been for a shoulder injury, the price of a tournament victory, that left him in need of but unwilling to ask for assistance. After one too many grunts of pain, Merlin marched over, rolling up his sleeves before taking the cloth from Arthur’s hand.

Neither of them said a word as he knelt by the tub. Lathered in soap, careful hands dragged the cloth across Arthur’s back, his chest, his legs. Merlin had to know the effect he was having, especially after Arthur’s control faltered, a hiss escaping as the tips of Merlin’s fingers ran down his body, not quite to his thigh but well below his waist.

He’d been so hard and Merlin’s hand had been so close. One shift of his hips and Arthur would have crossed a line, one that was as terrifying as it was tempting. Had it been disappointment on Merlin’s face when he caught his hand, taking the cloth before it could wander into dangerous territory?

There were so many unanswered questions hidden in Arthur’s new-old memories. But those could keep. Arthur had no intention of spending the entire night dwelling on the past. Especially not with Merlin on his knees, fumbling with his own laces, far less capable than he had been a moment before.

“Let me.”

He sat up and reached for the cord at Merlin’s waist. Arthur concentrated on the task at hand, trying his best not to get lost in the warm heat radiating from Merlin’s belly, the desperate fingers again winding through his hair, or the soft gasps as he struggled with the knot. Soon the hateful laces were defeated, leaving Merlin’s breeches hanging from his hips. With one fluid motion, Arthur peeled them down, the fabric bunching at his knees to reveal Merlin’s cock, fully erect and swollen.

“Can I?”

“You better.” The words were playful but Arthur caught the slight tremor in Merlin’s voice.

“Still telling me what to do?”

He fought to keep his own voice steady as he reached for Merlin, his fingers skimming back and forth along the delicate skin.

“I always have.” The tremor grew more noticeable as Arthur curled his hand around Merlin’s shaft. “I’m not going to change now.”

“I don’t want you to change,” Arthur said, his hand now moving in slow easy strokes. “Never did. There were things I didn’t know…”

Fingers dug in his shoulder as Merlin braced himself against Arthur’s body.

“But even if I had, I would still have wanted you to be you.” He used his free hand to steady Merlin, gripping his side. “Just as I do now. Just as I always will.”

Merlin whimpered, though whether it was from his words or the quickening pace of his wrist, Arthur couldn’t say. Feeling emboldened, he leaned forward to kiss Merlin’s stomach. The hand in his hair tightened, pushing his head lower.

For years Arthur had dreamed about Merlin on his knees in many different settings – an abandoned alleyway in the marketplace, some secluded spot in the forest, at Arthur’s bedside, underneath the table during a feast. Never once had it played out like this, with Merlin taking charge, guiding Arthur’s hands and mouth where he wanted them.

And that was a shame, Arthur thought as he parted his lips to let the tip of Merlin’s cock in. What an unoriginal fool he’d been to never consider the perfect noises Merlin would make as he swallowed his length, the salty taste of precum leaking on his tongue, the way his own cock would ache as Merlin thrust into his mouth.

It went against everything that tradition and convention dictated for a king. But when had Arthur ever let such things define his reign?

Tradition and convention would have stopped his friendship with Gwen before it started, left him compelling the submission of the people rather than earning their admiration. Tradition and convention dictated that he close his heart, write love off as weakness, and secure a marriage of convenience.

Instead of succumbing to their rules, Arthur chose to spend the night in an enchanted forest, bathed in the light of a magical orb, letting the man he fell for a decade ago fuck his mouth so hard that he almost choked, while loving every minute of it.

Tradition and convention could kindly piss off. Arthur had lost Merlin once, but fate had been merciful enough to afford him a second chance and Arthur would be damned if he was going to waste it. So let Merlin pull his hair, pant his name, use his body. There was nowhere Arthur would rather be.

The pace intensified, Merlin’s thrusts more frantic, more desperate. Arthur reached for his hand, winding their fingers together. Then Merlin’s hips went still, his body shaking as he came, Arthur refusing to pull away until Merlin was finished.

Merlin sat on his heels, slumping against Arthur to catch his breath.

“Was that…”

Arthur never got to finish his question. Merlin cut him off with a kiss, pushing him down to the blanket, pinning him underneath. He closed his eyes, relishing the comforting weight of Merlin bearing down on him, anchoring him in the moment as Merlin assaulted his mouth with renewed intensity. Desperate for more contact, Arthur rocked his hips as best he could, grinding against the body on top of him.

Merlin pulled back and laughed, then slid down Arthur’s body.

“What are you… ah!”

It was impossible to form words when Merlin’s mouth was on him, warm and wet, swallowing him down with the same irreverent devotion that Merlin had always displayed when it came to Arthur.

He could feel his control slipping - the glide of Merlin’s tongue, the little enthusiastic humming noises, his lips, red and flushed as they slid the length of Arthur’s cock. It was all too much, especially after what he’d just done to Merlin. He tried to hold off, tried to make it last longer. But when Merlin’s hand found his own, Arthur knew he was done for, his resolve failing, release spilling out as Merlin drank him down, holding his hand until the very end.

Merlin eased his way up the blanket to lay beside Arthur, cheeks flushed and eyes shining.

“That was…”

“It was,” Arthur agreed, pulling him close to kiss him gently. Merlin reached for the corner of the blanket to drape it over them, then let his head rest on Arthur’s shoulder.

“There’s so much I need to tell you,” Arthur murmured.

“And you will,” Merlin whispered. “Later. You’re dead tired and morning will be here soon.”

“But…”

“But nothing. Sleep.” Merlin extinguished the orb and the room went dark save the occasional tiny light of a firefly. “We have all the time we need. I’m not losing you again.”

Wrapped up with Merlin, Arthur drifted off.


	16. Chapter 16

“Shake a leg. Rise and shine. Let’s have you, lazy daisy.”

Arthur groaned. Even before he opened his eyes, he knew he was in the glasshouse from the earthy scent of the floor underneath him. Merlin sat beside him. Above, the first light of dawn started to streak across the sky.

“But we just went to sleep,” he grumbled.

“I know, but now it’s time to go to work.”

“Work?” Arthur could barely manage this conversation. There was no way he could hear petitions or meet with the council or do anything else that might be on the day’s agenda. Not that anything was supposed to be on his agenda. He’d suspected the festival would run late and had planned the day off weeks in advance.

“I do have a shop to run.”

“But it’s early.”

“Which is when people typically want their coffee. I imagine there are already a few bleary-eyed festival goers waiting for us to open.”

“Too bad for them. Your shop is closed today by royal decree. We’ll call it a holiday or…”

“Arthur…”

“Besides, there are public health concerns. The people of Camelot have become too dependent on coffee. It’s not good for them. We’ll brew a pot for ourselves after we’ve slept awhile longer.”

“Spoken like a true hypocritical prat.”

“Fine. Go run your shop. You can wake me when you’re closed but save me some - Ow!” The sting on his bare bottom pulled him a little further into consciousness. “You slapped me.”

“Call it horseplay. Now come on. You can set up the mugs and plates.”

“I can do what?”

“Help out. It’s your fault I haven’t had any sleep.”

“My fault? You’re the one who was running around with your fingers and your lips and your… bits…” He hid his face in the blanket.

“Yes and if you ever want to see my bits again, you’ll get up and help me open the shop.”

“Sorcerers truly are evil,” Arthur grumbled. “Let me find my clothes.”

༻✧༺ ༻✧༺ ༻✧༺

They had to hurry to get the shop ready – just as Merlin predicted, people had already assembled outside, most of whom appeared to have come directly from the Midsummer festival.

“They can wait a little longer.” Merlin shoved a mug of coffee in his hands. “You’ll be useless without it.”

A few customers did a double-take when they recognized the Lazy Daisy’s newest employee, but the majority were too in need of coffee to care that the king was taking their orders. There were loud cheers, though, when Merlin paused between filling cups to kiss Arthur’s cheek.

“I’m so happy for you.” Gwen jumped out of the queue and ran behind the counter to hug him. The dark circles under her eyes did nothing to dim the glow radiating across her face.

“I remembered,” he told her. “All of it. Thank you for looking after me all these years, putting up with me and...”

“Stop that. We’ll talk about it later when we’re rested. Right now you can tell me what happened when you and Merlin snuck off last night.”

“Oh nothing much. We talked and… Is Morgana around?” Gwen might be his best friend, but there were some things she didn’t need to know.

“I haven’t seen her since she left for Elena’s tent. Judging by how they were dancing before they went, I imagine we won’t see them until at least noon.”

It felt like the steady stream of customers would never end. Finally, when Arthur’s body felt too tired to fill another mug, Merlin locked the door.

“And we still have to clean up?” Arthur knew he was whining – Merlin went through this ordeal on a daily basis - but he didn’t care.

“Yes, dollophead, but with magic it won’t take long.”

“Maybe I should study sorcery,” Arthur muttered.

“Maybe I’ll teach you.”

Clean up plans were delayed as Arthur had no choice but to kiss Merlin senseless. He wasn’t sure he’d actually try to learn – his crash course in sorcery to revise the legal code had been enough to convince Arthur swords were more his area than spells. But there was something thrilling in knowing that he _could_ learn if he so chose and that Merlin would be the one to give him lessons.

“I have never been this tired. How do you do this every day?” Arthur slumped in a chair as he waited for Merlin to double-check that everything was as it should be before leaving.

“Sleeping the night before helps. All I want is to collapse in my bed.”

“Ah.” Caught up in the whirlwind of drinks and pastries, Arthur hadn’t given much thought to what would happen at the end of the day. It made sense that Merlin would want to stay in his loft. The shop was his home, he had to be back early in the morning. This wasn’t a rejection and it would be unfair of Arthur to see it as one.

“It’s really too bad that Gwaine’s been passed out in my bed all day,” Merlin continued. “I doubt I can wake him. But I suppose I can sleep on the floor.”

Subtext had never been Arthur’s strong point, but he was almost certain he’d caught a hidden question in Merlin’s words.

“Well,” Arthur began, “I’m far too tired to help with Gwaine. However, if you’d rather not sleep on the floor, I know of another bed you might consider. It’s larger and more comfortable than yours, though it does come with one current occupant.”

Merlin stared at him, but said nothing.

“Not that you have to,” Arthur continued, terrified he’d made a terrible mistake. “I know this is all new and I’m asking too soon. Plus you have your shop and…”

“Forget the shop. Let’s go.”


	17. Chapter 17

Almost one year later, Arthur Pendragon found himself yet again racing through the streets of Camelot to the Lazy Daisy. No one paid him any mind, not that there were many people out and about at this early hour. Even if there had been, it had become a common enough occurrence that no one found it odd. Besides, Arthur knew there were far more interesting things to discuss, what with all the changes taking place.

To begin with, there were the governmental reforms, which had been met with resounding support from the people. Arthur could say this with certainty thanks to the results of the referendum the government had conducted earlier that year. The council agreed that the changes taking place were too monumental to not seek the approval of the people before moving forward.

Some initial changes had gone according to Arthur’s plans; Gwen accepted the title of first minister with little resistance. Other areas proved more challenging. No matter how many times he begged, Morgana refused to take the throne.

“I’m flattered, I truly am,” she told him three months after Midsummer. “But the crown is a heavy burden to bear. I need more freedom than it affords.”

She spared a glance at the silver band inlaid with emeralds encircling her left ring finger. Elena had given it to her the night of the Midsummer festival when Morgana had been waiting with a ring of her own. The details of the wedding were still being worked out, along with how the two women would handle their existing responsibilities in government.

“If not queen, will you at least stay on as an advisor on witchcraft? It’s not Merlin’s specialization and you can send in messages by raven when you aren’t in Camelot.”

“Definitely. Although, speaking of the council, Gwen wanted me to remind you that you agreed to meet with her tonight for dinner.”

“Damn it.” It wasn’t that Arthur didn’t want to hear the proposal Gwen had been working on; he’d simply forgotten and made other plans.

“She said you could bring Merlin, too,” Morgana interrupted his thoughts. “In fact, she’d prefer that he be there. She’s invited all of the head advisors.”

“Do you know what she’s been working on?”

“Yes, but I’m not going to tell you. Have patience, brother. It’s big, but I think it’s for the better.”

To call Gwen’s proposal big was like saying Kilgharrah was not small, Arthur decided as he sat at the dinner table, his fingers intertwined with Merlin’s.

“No more kings and no more queens,” Gwen explained, “with the monarchy replaced by an expanded council representative of Camelot’s diverse population.”

Never had Arthur felt so proud of his best friend as he listened to her outline her plan to ensure that all segments of Camelot society had a voice in government. The reformed council would have an even split of men and women. Druids, sorcerers, and witches would have seats. Positions would be reserved for city dwellers along with villagers from outlying communities. Farmers, laborers, and merchants would be included, as would the elderly and the young. Knights, physicians, and scholars would have a say, as would servants.

“Though I think we should transition away from that term to something that comes with less baggage – domestic workers or custodial staff or… I don’t know. We can figure that out later. Anyway, what do you think?”

The room fell silent. Whether they were pondering Gwen’s proposal or waiting for someone else to be the first to speak, Arthur couldn’t say.

“Does that mean you’d have Arthur step down?” Gwaine asked.

Merlin had been right – Gwaine made an excellent knight. Yes, he’d seen the inside of more taverns than Arthur would ever visit and he could get raucous at times, but he was also highly perceptive, unmatched with a sword, and as dedicated to justice as Gwen. He quickly rose in the ranks and now stood only second to Leon in the hierarchy of the knights.

“No,” Gwen smiled at Arthur. “King Arthur is Camelot’s king of legend. Everyone adores him and I think the people would riot if he were to step down.”

“Good,” Gwaine said. “Camelot wouldn’t be the same without its princess.”

Arthur rolled his eyes in fake annoyance and Merlin kissed his cheek. It didn’t matter that they’d been together for months now; Arthur still blushed whenever Merlin kissed him, especially if others were watching.

“I think it’s an outstanding idea,” Geoffrey of Monmouth chimed in. “I’ve spent much of my life studying the previous rulers of Camelot. For every Arthur, there are at least five Uthers. No offense to you sire, but no one person should be afforded the power that Camelot’s kings accrued.”

“You’re right.” Arthur knew he had to speak, lest the assembled group think he opposed Gwen’s plan, which was brilliant, as he knew it would be. It wasn’t that he thought the reforms were bad; he simply wished he’d been better. “One of my father’s many mistakes was his belief that he could run the entire kingdom alone, relying solely on his own intuition. I tried to right that but even with the expanded council…”

“You completely transformed the kingdom and you helped mend a great rift.” Gaius’s voice interrupted Arthur. “I lived through the Purge. I saw how it tore apart Camelot society. Even with your other accomplishments, I will forever be proud of you for how you helped the people heal.”

Merlin squeezed his hand as Arthur struggled to remain composed.

“If you hadn’t become regent when you did,” Leon continued, “I was going to resign, as were a good number of the other knights. We signed up to serve the people, not oppress them.”

“I wouldn’t have considered enlisting had you not taken the throne,” Elyan added. “Not that your father would have let me. My family name wasn’t esteemed enough to die for him.”

“Besides,” George added, “it’s not only too much power for a single person to bear, but also too much of a burden. I know the toll it’s exacted. And I know that certain, how shall I phrase this delicately, hereditary obligations almost caused you not to follow your heart. And that would have been a tragedy. The entire eastern wing of the castle knows how much you and Merlin care for each other.”

Arthur made a mental note to remind Merlin about silencing spells. Stone walls were apparently not thick enough to keep their nighttime activities private.

“Which means,” Merlin said, “you can shut up with all that nonsense about needing an heir and answer my damn question.”

All eyes on the room turned to Arthur.

“Tell me more about the system of elections,” he said. There was no way he was going to answer _that_ question in such a public setting.

“You do realize, sire, that a triple wedding requires considerable planning and preparation. Don’t wait too long,” George chided.

“I’m especially intrigued by the term limits,” Arthur continued, ignoring George. “I’d also like to suggest we establish a corps of magistrates to hear petitioners’ grievances.”

༻✧༺ ༻✧༺ ༻✧༺

At the same time that Arthur announced the results of the referendum approving the gradual transition to the new political system, he had other news for the people of Camelot.

He’d negotiated a new peace treaty and trade agreement with Essetir. Arthur hadn’t been able to pressure Lot to free his indentured sorcerers because they had already freed themselves. Alator had been building a liberation movement since he escaped and viewed Merlin’s return to Camelot as a sign to act. (Though Merlin had given him a basic explanation, Arthur still had questions about why so many sorcerers refused to use Merlin’s name and insisted on calling him Emrys.)

The rebellion was short-lived, not because it was crushed, but because Lot was generally hated by the inhabitants of Essetir. Sorcerers and soldiers united to chase him across the border. With Alator’s endorsement, a woman named Finna took the throne.

“She spent her childhood training in the Old Religion,” Gaius told Arthur. “She never became a high priestess but she has considerable power.”

Arthur recognized that her magical prowess was laudable, but he was more impressed by her practical approach to governance. It was one of the easiest negotiations of Arthur’s reign, as Finna’s goal was to reach an agreement that would benefit Essetir.

If it helped her realm to transfer Ealdor to Camelot, reducing the strain on Essetir’s resources, well, that was a happy coincidence.

“Thank you,” Merlin choked out when Arthur told him.

“Consider it an engagement present,” Arthur replied, finally answering the question Merlin had asked not long after he’d moved into Arthur’s chambers.

“I sprung that on you too soon,” Merlin said between kisses. “You needed time to adjust to regaining your memories.”

“I needed time to make sure I wouldn’t lose them again. I still can’t believe I forgot you.”

No matter how many times Merlin and Gaius reassured him that Alator’s enchantment couldn’t have been resisted and was now completely broken, Arthur harbored residual guilt and fear over what had happened. Merlin deserved a husband who would love and cherish him, not potentially view him as a stranger.

“For the thousandth time, it wasn’t your fault. Now I’ll be here to remind you every day. Besides, you still loved me even when you didn’t recognize me. I know marriage is only a formality, but after I lost you once, I want an official record of what we are to one another.”

That left Arthur with no choice but to show Merlin exactly what he meant to him, the message delivered in a mixture of soft words, gentle kisses, and tender caresses.

Hours later, when Merlin was fast asleep under their shared covers, Arthur slipped out to track down George.

“I apologize for taking so long to let you know. If it’s too late to make changes…”

“No need to apologize,” George replied. “I’ve been planning for a triple wedding all along. I didn’t think it would be possible to exceed last year’s Midsummer festival but now… Though I have to say, I wouldn’t be able to pull it off if you hadn’t rescinded the magic ban.”

༻✧༺ ༻✧༺ ༻✧༺

Other changes were more subdued, though still important.

The ranks of the knights expanded. Percival, another member of the _Excalibur’s_ crew, joined Gwaine. So many Druids expressed interest that Arthur was working with Merlin to develop a sorcerer’s regiment.

The _Excalibur_ continued to sail its usual trade routes, supplying a variety of new goods that helped drive further economic growth for its crew and for Camelot. It had new co-captains, a couple of smugglers-turned-traders called Tristan and Isolde. Though some sorcerers chose to return to dry land, a good number remained on board, enjoying their life at sea.

The Lazy Daisy still supplied Camelot with the daily ration of coffee required to fuel all the other changes. As Arthur predicted, Merlin’s place on the council (and, if the full truth was told, his place in their shared bed) prevented him from running the shop on his own. He had help from Mordred and Kara, two Druids from the _Excalibur_ who decided to return to the five kingdoms.

“I know you,” Arthur said when Merlin introduced him to Mordred. “You were the boy Morgana was hiding in her chambers.”

“She rescued me twice,” Mordred told him. “Once when she convinced you to help me escape and again when I lived on the ship. I’d grown so angry at what happened to my family – she helped me work through that before the bitterness could consume me.”

Other Druids who were recent arrivals to the city sometimes worked at the shop for a few weeks or months to adjust to the new environment. With a few exceptions who were quickly reminded of the importance of good manners, the people of Camelot didn’t care that magic helped bring them their favorite morning elixir. Instead, they cheered the shorter wait times provided by legalized sorcery.

And then there were the days when Merlin took over. He insisted he did so to give the others a day off, though it was obvious to Arthur that he enjoyed interacting with the people in a less formal setting than the halls of government.

It was on one such day that Arthur found himself sprinting through the city, trying to dodge the debris left in the streets, hoping he made it in time.

Standing outside the Lazy Daisy, he paused to catch his breath, then tried the door.

“Come back later,” Merlin called from inside. “We’re not open.”

“Not even for the king?”

The lock turned and Arthur stepped inside to hear Merlin muttering about royal asses and pompous prats.

“Too thirsty to wait?” Merlin teased.

“Something like that.” Arthur grabbed him by the hand, pulling him close for a kiss. “Now what’s left to do?”

“You do remember that this is meant to be your day off?”

“And I can’t think of a better way to spend it.”

It wasn’t a lie. Arthur didn’t care if he had to put up with demanding customers through midafternoon, all he wanted was to spend the day with Merlin.

Merlin shook his head. “Fine. You can grind more beans. I’ll get the scones.”

Arthur stepped behind the counter to the mortar and pestle, settling into the task assigned to him. Secretly, Arthur loved these moments, when he and Merlin were alone in the shop before it opened. Soon people would stream in, too desperate for coffee to care that they were barking their orders at the king. There would be mugs to fill and spills to clean and they would be caught in the rush of the day.

Until then, he could enjoy the quiet stillness of the morning with Merlin. Arthur wasn’t sure how many of these days they would have for a while, the plans for the upcoming triple wedding so extensive that he was pretty sure the party would be remembered long after he and Camelot were forgotten.

Arthur had been meaning to talk to Merlin about that. The celebrations were largely for the people, one more way to keep building on the new Camelot already emerging. That was a good thing and Arthur appreciated the care George had put into preparations. But Arthur had been devising plans of his own.

He was going to ask Merlin to marry him, in private, in the glasshouse. Morgana had already agreed to perform the Old Religion rites. While she and Elena were excited about the upcoming festivities, she understood why Arthur wanted fewer eyes watching something so deeply personal. For his whole life he’d belonged to the realm, to the people. There were things he wanted to say to Merlin that should belong only to them.

George would never know. They could still attend the public ceremony with only Morgana the wiser.

Arthur would bring it up after they closed for the day. Right now all he wanted was to find Merlin so they could share coffee and kisses before it was time to open the doors.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[FANART] Love is Brewing at the Lazy Daisy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25992289) by [vickytokio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vickytokio/pseuds/vickytokio)




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